


Your Silence Is My Favorite Sound

by WaxyWolf



Series: The Storks [1]
Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Brothels, Childhood Memories, Dubious Consent, Forced Prostitution, Gang Violence, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slow Burn, Trans Male Character, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2019-06-27 07:01:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15680370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaxyWolf/pseuds/WaxyWolf
Summary: Six of Crows AUStolen from his home, Jimin has been forced to work in one of Ketterdam's unsavory brothels. When his contract is bought by Min Yoongi, he's once again pushed into the unknown, into the world of gang members and deception.In this life of puppets and masters, Min Yoongi seems to hold all the strings.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First, HUGE PROPS TO Tati on Twitter for the prompt and sparking this creative dumpster fire! Check her out here: https://twitter.com/diminnies 
> 
> This has been sitting in my folder forever, and I finally got the courage to post it!
> 
> You don't have to be familiar with Six of Crows to understand, but it will definitely help with some of the locations and specifics of the universe. 
> 
> Happy Reading!
> 
> Title from "You Should See Me In A Crown" by Billie Eilish

The silk curtains make a slick noise as they slide against each other, having previously revealed a shadowy street below. Jimin draws his hand back from the window and turns back to face the room. The ornate clock on the wall, decorated in false jade and gold, shows that his next client is in fifteen minutes. 

He crosses the room to a small vanity with a tiny mirror and peers at his reflection. In the low light from the many candles in the room, he looks tired. Jimin quickly rubs his cheeks to put more color into them, brushing his bangs back from over his eyes. He supposes it doesn’t matter if he looks tired or not; his patrons only pay for the shade of his skin and the slant to his eyes, not his state of mind. He just needs to look well enough that they don’t complain to Tante Heleen, which would surely result in a beating, if not worse. 

He puts the thought out of his mind and focuses back on his face in the mirror. Jimin remembers the first night he spent in the room, his cheeks blotchy as he cried, making dreadful eye contact with his own tearful reflection. He had cried every night for a week until Heleen had heard and had him starved for three days. She had sneered at him, 

“You may not understand Kerch, but even dogs understand hunger.” After that, he had kept his weeping silent, and eventually he had stopped crying altogether. In all honesty, he had stopped talking as well. He could speak Kerch well enough, but he tried to save his words for his natural Shu, which was a rarity to hear and speak in Ketterdam. His silence had become so renowned that Tante Heleen flaunted him has her “silent serpent,” within the role of her snake of course. Men would come to try and make him talk, give him secrets in hopeful exchange, slap his face to force sounds out of his mouth. But while he always played whatever role they wanted, he never spoke Shu, never of his own secrets.

In the present, he tears his eyes away from the falsely rich mirror. One of the candles is sputtering. He would need to trim the wick. He thinks how it would be so much easier to have gas lamps in the room, but Tante Heleen had insisted on only candles. The men of Ketterdam liked believing they were transported to a far off country, one much more underdeveloped than their own Ketterdam. Shu Han was far from primitive, but the fantasy of power and intelligence was an alluring draw. 

The clock chimes softly out of tune, marking the hour. His client would be here any minute. Jimin stands and checks over his outfit. He’s dressed in what was supposed to be a traditional robe and trousers, but cut in a much more revealing way. The high-collared robe’s sleeves only go to his elbows, and the fabric was sheer. The pants are tight and made of faux-leather, with tin buttons and glass gemstones sewn onto the waist. It’s uncomfortable, but he never wears it for long anyways. The whole outfit is coordinated green and gold, with the lightest golden shimmer applied to his cheekbones and lips. 

He makes one last attempt to look neutral, if not cheerful, and is just about to sit down on the bed to wait when a knock sounds at the door. Jimin pads across the carpeted floor and opens the heavy door. It can only be locked from the outside, but welcoming the patrons in is a polite habit of his he refuses to break. But instead of a nervous looking man in wrinkled clothes, or even a arrogant man with a fading hairline, the peacock queen herself stands at his door. 

Tante Heleen cuts a vicious figure in the doorway, all heavy lines and golden curls. Her lips are a thin blade, her frown lines more pronounced than the ones from her smiles. 

Ever since the heist at the Ice Court and the plague rumors, the reputation of the Menagerie had steadily decreased. Even after the fears of disease had been put to rest, clients had been scarce. Just last week, the Kaelish girl had been sold off to the House of The White Rose, another brothel on Ketterdam’s West Stave. Jimin had been sad to see her go, even if they had only exchanged the occasional word while passing in the hall. Heleen’s rare kindness had grown even scarcer, to where even good deeds prompted a slap or a pinch rather than a loving kiss to the forehead. In his doorway. Tante Heleen certainly looks the part of temptress, dressed in her gown and with her curls piled loftily atop her head. 

But Jimin is far more interested in the man behind her. He is Shu, just like Jimin, with his dark hair cut short on the sides and dressed in a long coat with tails. His eyes are heavily lidded, like he is appraising everything with a critical eye. He’s on the short side, much shorter than the looming Heleen, but the control and power he radiates far outweigh his stature. Jimin shivers, tempted to pull the too-short sleeves of his costume tighter around himself. But he refrains, instead asking in his most polite tone,

“Tante Heleen, you grace me with your presence. What can I do for you?” His eyes dart to the other Shu man, suddenly aware of his lack of honorifics. When in Ketterdam, it had seemed like too much bother to use for people who didn’t understand. Heleen’s dress flutters as she crosses her arms.

“Jimin Park, it’s become necessary to make some changes to the Menagerie. While it’s a shame to have to manage without your,” she looks him up and down, “talents, I’m sure we’ll have no trouble getting along without a Shu snake.” Jimin thinks that by talents, she means his sharp features. “Your contract has been auctioned and bought by Min Yoongi.” At this, she gestures to the man standing just behind her. 

Jimin’s blood runs cold. His contract had been up for auction? He had been haggled over, wagered over like a trinket at the market, and he hadn’t been aware? Tante Heleen has just pulled the rug out from under him, his contact being the only constant in a life of different faces every night. He now belongs to this Min Yoongi, whoever he was. Judging by the expensive cut of his jacket and the silver-handled pistol just hidden by his coat, Min is a very rich man indeed, probably another barrel boss or head of some brothel. 

Jimin wasn’t overly familiar with the names and reputations of those sour figures who controlled life in the slums. For all he knew, he could be walking into a lion’s den with this man. But it wasn’t like he had a choice. Legally, he was owned, body and soul, by whoever held his contract and managed his indenture. All Jimin could do was bow, still too shocked to protest. Heleen looks almost disappointed in his lack of a response. She steps to the side, allowing Min Yoongi a better look at Jimin. The man looks him up and down with something like boredom in his eyes, not meeting Jimin’s own searching gaze. Min Yoongi turns back to Heleen,

“Everything that was promised is here. He’ll do.” His voice is deep, like the echo of the ocean from inside a cave. Jimin thinks that Min Yoongi’s voice could stop the tide if he tried, with the amount of authority he carries. Heleen purrs,

“Splendid. Jimin, get your things and meet us in the parlor in five minutes. I’m sure you’ll want plenty of time to get settled into your new home.” Her smile is wicked, searching for any sign of Jimin’s distress. Jimin refuses to give her that, keeping his expression painfully composed. He bows once more.

“Of course, Tante Heleen. I’ll be there shortly.” With one final sniff, she turns on her heel and strides away. Min Yoongi lingers a moment longer, meeting Jimin’s eyes for the first time. His eyes are dark and hungry, and Jimin is almost frightened by what he sees. This is a man who kills without fear, thinks Jimin. But there are worse men in Ketterdam, even some he has serviced: the men who kill for enjoyment, without mercy or morality. He sees many things in Min Yoongi’s eyes, but not the sickening light those men have. 

Jimin sees all of this in the brief moment Min looks at him, before the older man briskly turns and follows Heleen. 

Jimin retreats into his room as soon as the pair disappear from sight, closing his door and letting his shoulders slump. His dimly lit room is spinning, the many fragments of glass and gems reflecting the candlelight and making dots dance in front of his eyes. He’s losing control, slipping, slipping-no. He takes a deep breath to steady his heart rate. He can control this. He can pack his few things, can walk to the parlor, can adapt to whatever hellhole Min Yoongi might stick him in. He’s lived at the Menagerie for two years, he can survive anything else. At least he knows it’ll be the same kind of work. He composes himself enough to fetch his worn bag and pack his sparse items. 

He has barely anything from his life before, in Shu Han, before he was taken by slavers. He had been sold to a factory to pay off his father’s gambling debts, but had been kidnapped from the barely-protected barracks the workers lived in. He remembers waking up to the screams of the other boys his age, struggling to get out of bed before having a sack jammed over his head and being knocked unconscious. From there he was shipped to Kerch, where Tante Heleen had swooped in and bought him from the auction on the docks. All he has are a few rough shirts and a pair of loose pants for when he isn’t with a client. He has no money of his own, no expensive heirlooms, no photographs of his mother or father. 

He throws all of his clothes in the bag along with a few other items, then left the room without looking back. He may never even see this building or Tante Heleen ever again, which was a daunting idea. For all its terror, the Menagerie had served as shelter from the rain for two years. He determinedly does not look back at his room. 

As he reaches the parlor doors, he pauses. He can hear Heleen’s high-pitched titter, accented by Min Yoongi’s occasional low rumble. He takes another deep breath before knocking once. The voices stop abruptly, then Heleen calls,

“Come in!” Inside, the parlor is also dimly lit, but much brighter from the many glinting gold object reflecting the light and making every corner glow. Jimin thinks about how most of the decor is only gold-coated, not solid like Heleen would have anyone believe. Min Yoongi is perched on the edge of an armchair, holding a cup of tea with great distaste. Jimin has to hide a smile. Heleen’s tea is nothing like the tea back in Shu Han, the leaves of much lesser quality. Jimin had almost spit out the first tea he tried in Ketterdam. He knows Min Yoongi must also have a dislike for the tea in Kerch if he’s holding the cup so far from his body. 

Heleen doesn’t seem to have noticed Min’s aversion, instead beckoning Jimin inside with a lazy wave of her hand. She hands a sheaf of papers over to Min Yoongi, who takes them with a thin-fingered hand. Jimin’s heart jumps. Those papers dictate his life, his every action. To have them held so openly in a stranger’s hands is to feel shaken to his core. With a single stroke, Min Yoongi could have him jailed or even killed. Heleen reclines on her couch,

“Well, everything seems to be in order. He’s all yours.” Jimin keeps his gaze on the floor. Sometimes dangerous men like to feel more dangerous than they actually are. He sees Min Yoongi stand out of the corner of his eye, his black leather boots cross the rich wooden floor to him. Jimin stays perfectly still, waiting for some kind of action from Min. A slap, maybe even a kiss? Sometimes men want others to hurt just as much as they want their own pleasure. 

But the man makes no move towards either. Instead, he continues to the door, clicking his fingers once. Jimin takes this as a sign to follow, and scurries to the door. He can’t help but send one last look at Heleen, who’s still lounging on her couch. She winks, fluttering her talon-like nails in his direction. She knows I’m going to die with this man, thinks Jimin. Still, he speeds up his pace to keep up with the older man as they walk to the front door. An uncertain path with this man is better than a certain death in the rooms of the Menagerie.

Jimin allows himself to dream about running away when they reach the crowded streets, but doesn’t let himself wonder for too long. Min is sure to catch him before he makes it far, and with his power and resources, would have him found within a day. 

Right as they reach the tall glass doors, Min Yoongi spins and grabs him by the lapel. It’s such a sudden movement that Jimin squeaks, instinctually jumping but held stiff by Min’s hold on his shirt. His eyes are still the same hungry shade, but he still cannot find any sadistic glint. Min draws him in close, close enough that Jimin can feel his breath on the back of his neck. In that authoritative tone, he growls,

“You try running when we’re outside, you’re as good as dead.” Jimin nods frantically, breathing heavily through his nose. For a split second, he believes that the older Shu man can read minds. After a moment, Min releases him, then continues out the door as if nothing had occured between the two of them. Jimin takes a moment to catch his breath before hurriedly following him, making sure to stay no less than a footstep behind. Min Yoongi moves gracefully through the riotous crowds, the throngs of people naturally avoiding him. Jimin thinks of a rock parting colorful streams of a river. 

They make their way down the Barrel to the less reputable part of the district, if there can be an even seedier part of the slums. Here, there is no false flash or Barrel charm, only unsanded wood and people looking on with hollow eyes. The less popular brothels were located to the south, but Jimin wasn’t surprised. Most of the minorities of Ketterdam were forced into the worst parts of the districts. Even with greed as an equalizer, the Barrel is no different. For a gang to be led by a Shu man means the gang must be weak, not allowed to try for better pickings. 

Min Yoongi leads them to a squat building, two floors at most, with peeling paint and a bronze tiger hanging above the door. The windows are cloaked in velvet, and Jimin thinks he can smell cloying perfume. Min takes him inside. 

The interior of the building is dim, almost dark. Jimin thinks he can hear music and possibly laughter, but before he can strain to hear more he’s pulled down a hall to a room that is also shrouded in darkness, but with lamps to light their way. The room is furnished with several small, low-seated couches, a bookshelf stacked with odds and ends, and a giant desk in the far right corner of the room. 

Perched on one of the couches is a man who doesn’t look much older than Jimin. He’s dressed in a loose shirt and breeches, and toying with a wicked-looking dagger. His right eye is covered with a simple black eye patch, with a small tiger embroidered in its center. Even with only one eye, he handles the dagger with careless confidence. At the sound of the door, the man glances up and smiles. He stays in his seat, but puts down the knife. He asks in Kerch, 

“Back so soon with your new prize?” Min grunts, moving across the room to set Jimin’s papers down on the desk. He shrugs off his coat, revealing a pressed black shirt with its sleeves rolled up to his elbow. Jimin jerks his gaze down to the floor. He hears the creak of a chair. “What’s your name, cutie?” The man has gotten up from the couch and stands expectantly in front of him. Jimin swallows.

“Park Jimin.” His own voice sounds rough to his own ears. He sounds afraid. He can practically hear the other man grin when he says, this time in Shu, 

“Ah, and a voice like an angel too. Will he be joining Joonie upstairs?” Jimin wonders who “Joonie” is and whether he wants to join him in whatever happens upstairs. Min finishes folding his coat.

“I suppose that depends on Jimin.” Jimin knows what that means, and he feels sick. Any gifted autonomy ultimately ends in the lesson of “submit or suffer.” Whatever this choice might be, there is no real choice. 

Min makes an impatient noise. “Jin, stop making him nervous. Go find Jeongguk and head to The High Roost. It’s time for a shift change.” Jin rolls his eyes and blows an exaggerated kiss in Min’s direction. Jimin expects some sort of chastisement, but Min just sighs resignedly and waits for the door to shut all the way. When it does, he comes to stand a few feet away from Jimin, silent. Jimin doesn’t speak. A million and one things could happen next, but all of the most plausible ideas end with Min taking claim on what he know owns. 

What he doesn’t expect is for Min to ask quietly, “Do you speak Shu?” Jimin nods jerkily, not sure if this is a trap. Min sighs and continues in Shu, “Good, I was worried I’d be stuck talking clunky Kerch all night. Would you like to sit down?” Jimin shakes his head. He’d rather be standing for whatever the barrel boss has to say. Min Yoongi dips his head. “I have a few questions I need you to answer.” Jimin isn’t sure he could refuse. “How old are you?”

“19.”

“How long have you been in Ketterdam?” 

“Two years.” 

“And how long had you worked at the Menagerie?”

“Two years.” Min narrows his eyes. He turns abruptly and paces slowly, methodically. Jimin stays rooted to the floor, unsure of what the gang leader’s next action will be. 

“Tell me honestly, Jimin. Did you chose this life?” Jimin almost gapes at him. People have asked him many things: if he likes it, if he’s a whore, if he wants more. No one has ever asked him if he wanted to be a prostitute. He supposes it never mattered to them to ask. But for some reason, it matters to Min Yoongi. There’s a pregnant pause before Jimin responds, his voice soft.

“...No. No, I did not choose this.” Min seems satisfied with his answer, if not pleased. The older man stops his pacing and studies him carefully, meticulously. 

“If I were to offer you a deal, could I count on your honestly to tell me the absolute truth?” Jimin nods cautiously. His life is already in this man’s hands, and too many others have seen him bared. It is nothing to be vulnerable once more. “Your silence and skill precedes you, Park Jimin. Men are more willing to slip secrets when they feel assured that their partner in conversation will not utter a word of it. I would never force anyone to walk a path they do not wish to travel on. I’ll give you a choice; you can become a member of my gang, the Storks. You’ll have no obligation to work in the brothel or service any other person. You’d be duty-bound to me, of course, but you’d have the freedom to walk the streets as an equal to any other of the gang members.”

“Or,” and at this he pauses, tilting his head to the side. “You could become my most trusted confidant. You gather and guard my secrets, collect them from the degenerates who come seeking another. You would work in the gang’s brothel, The Tiger’s Eye, under my protection and care, and report to me with all the information you gather.” 

Jimin feels like his feet are turning to stone. Never in a hundred lifetimes could he have imagined that Min Yoongi would give him a choice on his role in the Storks. He knows he must look like a fool, his mouth hanging open slightly and his eyes wide. But even as he furiously searches for some kind of trick or trap in Min’s words, he already knows his answer. While the prospect of walking the streets of Ketterdam with purpose and intent is an intoxicating one, he knows he wouldn’t last a day outside of these walls. He has no idea where anything is, having been kept inside the Menagerie for most of his stay there. He has a dislike for violence and bloodshed, cannot pick a pocket to save his life. No, Jimin would truly be a terrible gang member. 

But he already knows how to draw secrets from the clients who come looking for a Shu boy with sealed lips. He knows how to make a few hours feel like forever, and how to keep the treasures he gathers close to his chest. And if he’s being honest, he doesn’t mind the work if he knows he’ll be protected against the more violent patrons. Liking men was something he could never admit to, could never have when he was growing up in Shu Han. As a prostitute, no one looks down upon him for his choice in partners, rather the nature of his occupation. It’s a strange allowance on society’s behalf, that they accept one sin in favor of the other. The freedom of his identity, if not his autonomy, is something he still prizes. Even if Min Yoongi would let him choose whoever he liked to take to bed, he finds himself unwilling to give up his only slice of freedom he’s had. 

And still, an even deeper, darker part of himself wants to thank Min Yoongi. The Menagerie was a prison in which he would have rotted in for years. By taking him away from the cruel whims of Tante Heleen, Min Yoongi has at least given him a choice, whereas he had none before.He feels strangely indebted to this man. It’s just another job, he tells himself, just another client, another indenture. He’ll repay this man, then leave and never look back.  
With Min waiting for his answer, Jimin meets his eyes for the very first time.

“I want to be your spy.” Min Yoongi smiles, an expression without happiness or joy. 

“Now, we can meet each other as equals.” He extends his palm in the Kerch form of greeting and respect. “My name is Min Yoongi, leader of The Storks. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” Jimin shakes his hand in a state of delayed shock. Min’s palm is warm and calloused in his own small, soft hand. 

“I am Park Jimin, and I am pleased to make your acquaintance as well.” Min’s smile is a tiger’s snarl, and Jimin isn’t sure if he’s just signed a deal with the devil or received a pardon out of hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!   
> I hope you enjoy this crossover. Six of Crows blew me away and I hope y'all come scream at me in the comments or on Twitter about Kaz's death wish and Wylan being the biggest twink. 
> 
> Comments/kudos are very much appreciated! 
> 
> Find me wasting time on twitter at https://twitter.com/sunstarsseokjin


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Namjoon raises an eyebrow.
> 
> “You mean am I a whore?” Jimin nods helplessly. There’s no polite way to ask. “Yes. People pay me to have sex with them. And most of the time, I enjoy it.” Jimin raises his head in surprise. He manages to squeak out,
> 
> “Really?” Namjoon nods, unashamed. He shifts on the bed, robe riding up to reveal more of a smooth, pale calf and muscled thigh. 
> 
> “And what about you, Park Jimin? What do you like?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a HOT SEC since I've posted, let alone updated!   
> I'm so sorry! It's been a whirlwind few weeks and I didn't have the energy to write down all the mess in my head. But! Here we are, another installment of my SoC AU! I'm falling even more in love with this, to be honest, and I'm really excited to keep going, if I have the time.
> 
> Thank you so much to the readers and commenters who stuck around and motivated me to keep going! This one's for you! I promise I'll try and update sooner next time!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter! The plot starts to develop at last, haha!
> 
> Happy Reading!

Once he’s been properly introduced to the leader of the Storks, he’s taken upstairs, most likely to meet Joonie, whoever that is. As they climb the creaky stairs to the second floor, Jimin clings to the fact that Min promised to protect him, gave him a semblance of control over his future. The staircase leads to a more open area, with a well-lit sitting room and several doors leading off to different rooms. 

Min directs him to a couch and tells him to wait before disappearing into one of the doors. Jimin rests his hands on his knees, prepared to wait for anywhere between two and twenty minutes. He traces the cracks in the walls with his eyes, noticing how they’re discreetly covered by artfully placed cloth hangings. While the building clearly isn’t in the best repair, it seems sturdy and dry. 

His study of the room is interrupted by footsteps on the stairs. The man from before, Jin, strides across the room, his steps measured and confident. Jimin dips his head in greeting, but doesn’t speak. Jin still carries the dagger he had been playing with earlier, and he tosses it between his hands as he takes a seat next to Jimin. The tiger on his eye patch roars silently at Jimin. Jin gives him a side look.

“So, you’re Yoongi’s newest recruit, huh? You think you’ve got what it takes to be a stork?” Jimin dips his head.

“I hope so.” Jin’s casual demeanor changes in an instant. His easy-going manner vanishes as he shifts to grab the back of the sofa just behind Jimin’s head in one fluid movement. The younger boy startles, but before he can move away, that shiny dagger is an inch from his throat. 

In that same nonchalant voice, Jin says, 

“There’s no room for hope in a world like ours. The sooner you get that into your head, the better off we’ll all be, got it?” Jimin doesn’t dare breathe. Somewhere behind them, a door opens.

“C’mon Seokjin, we’ve talked about threatening the newbies.” Jin’s eyes don’t leave Jimin’s face and his knife remains at his throat. 

“Just making sure they know what they’re getting into.” Jimin doesn’t move a muscle. Jin’s lone eye is burning with a sort of righteous anger, but it doesn’t feel like he’s all that angry with Jimin. Jimin thinks of hope and of the tiger covering Jin’s missing eye and thinks maybe he can understand that anger. Yoongi must move nearby, because his voice is closer when he rasps,

“Jimin is very aware of his situation. I told you to find Jeongguk and change the shift at The High Roost. Go now before I decide to give you a blindfold to replace your eyepatch.” After a beat, Jin removes his dagger and pockets it in some invisible sheath on his thigh. He gets up gracefully from the couch and glides down the stairs. Yoongi huffs, and Jimin turns to look at him. “He’s always had a flair for the dramatics.” 

There’s a man standing beside Yoongi, taller by a few inches and with a shock of purple hair. He’s wearing a soft looking robe, and his ankles are bare underneath the hem. He smiles at Yoongi’s grumbling, taking the initiative to step forward an introduce himself.

“I’m Kim Namjoon, it’s nice to meet you Park Jimin-ssi.” It’s like a shock of cold water to hear an honorific tied to his name after so long. He had never been old enough in Shu Han to be titled with “-ssi”. He ignores his sudden sadness at the thought and greets Namjoon. Yoongi gestures to the taller man. 

“He’ll be showing you around and helping you get settled in. Do you have any further questions?” 

“When will I begin, uh, working-I mean-” Yoongi seems to understand his fumbling without much prompting. He fixes Jimin with a calculated look.

“I guess that depends on you as well, though I would prefer sometime this week.” He turns to Namjoon. “I’ll see you in the morning.” To Jimin’s surprise, Namjoon smiles and kisses Yoongi on the cheek lightly before he retreats downstairs. Perhaps Namjoon is Yoongi’s lover? Or maybe he expects all his workers to treat him such? 

Namjoon meets Jimin’s stare with a soft glance and leads him to the room Yoongi had entered earlier. A bed lies unmade, and closet doors are cracked open to spill out a variety of colorful robes and loose shirts. Namjoon sits on the bed, looking at ease in the space. Jimin follows his lead, taking a somewhat more hesitant seat on the edge of the mattress. Abruptly, Namjoon waves a hand at his violet-colored head.

“This usually throws people off at first. This isn’t my natural hair color, I have a Grisha friend who does it for me.” That answers at least one of Jimin’s questions. Grisha, at least, he is familiar with. They are healers, tradesmen, magical people who are kept as pets by the rich at the best of times and hunted down at the worst of times. Namjoon’s hair comes from tailor work, no doubt, from a Grisha Corporalki. 

“I think it looks nice.” Jimin comments politely. There is a moment of awkward silence before Namjoon chuckles,

“You don’t have to be shy. Yoongi and his Storks are nothing to fear, as long as you pay your dues. The Tiger’s Eye can be an intimidating place, but we’re alright.” Jimin eyes him warily.

“And by we, you mean, are you a-Do you-?” Namjoon raises an eyebrow.

“You mean am I a whore?” Jimin nods helplessly. There’s no polite way to ask. “Yes. People pay me to have sex with them. And most of the time, I enjoy it.” Jimin raises his head in surprise. He’s never talked to another sex worker who had enjoyed their occupation at all. He manages to squeak out,

“Really?” Namjoon nods, unashamed. He shifts on the bed, robe riding up to reveal more of a smooth, pale calf and muscled thigh. 

“And what about you, Park Jimin? What do you like?” Jimin swallows hard. After a long moment, he answers,

“I like keeping secrets. I like being helping, being useful. And…” Namjoon looks at him earnestly, silently asking for him to continue. “...I like being intimate with men.” Namjoon grins,

“Oh honey, don’t we all.” The atmosphere changes again, from something secret and seductive to something far more comfortable. “Yoongi-hyung tells me you’ve worked in a brothel before, it’s much of the same. You’ll have a room on the second level to entertain your guests, though after business hours that room belongs solely to you. You can do with your time as you wish, as long as you give your dues to our second-in-command, Hoseok. He’s in charge of finances and debts. What happens with your clients is your business, but if the rumors are true, then some of it will be Yoongi’s business as well.” Jimin blushes despite himself, envisioning Yoongi knowing about the part of his work that doesn’t involve secrets. 

Namjoon uses his hands to talk as he describes The Tiger’s Eye. The sleeve of his robe slips up his forearm, and Jimin glimpses a tattoo on his inner left arm, a stork being torn in two. He wonders if he’ll be expected to take the same tattoo, to show his membership to the gang. Membership or ownership, he ponders morbidly. A gang can mean family, but it sounds a little too much like a contract for Jimin’s liking. 

“Namjoon-hyung,” he asks quietly at a pause in the conversation, “Why did you decide to join the Storks?” Namjoon seems surprised by the question, but answers directly. 

“When I first came to Ketterdam, looking for better work and a better life, I was lost. I spoke little Kerch and I couldn’t find any place willing to hire a Shu man. I spent a lot of time getting drunk off my ass and waking up in alleys. Luckily, Yoongi found me and befriended me. He helped me get back on my feet and protected me from thieves. He gave me an offer I didn’t want to refuse.” Namjoon shrugs. “The Storks are like family at this point. I’d do anything for them.” 

Jimin thinks upon Namjoon’s words. He hasn’t had a family since he’d been shipped off to the factory to work off his family’s debts. He doesn’t see brotherhood in his near future with this gang, but who knows? Namjoon’s story mirrors his own to a degree, and he finds comfort in the older man’s content with his role. Namjoon smiles kindly at him. “How about I show you your room, and you can get settled in? It’s been quite the evening.” Jimin can’t see a clock, but he knows it must be past midnight at least. He stands, dipping his head in respect to Namjoon. 

“Thank you for your kindness.” Namjoon waves him off.

“Ah, it’s nothing. You’re a part of the Storks now, and we watch out for one another.” Namjoon guides him to a room just down the hall. It’s slightly smaller than Namjoon’s, but it’s sturdy and dry, a simple bed and empty chest of drawers taking up most of the space. The whole room is draped in fabrics hangings, creating a warm atmosphere. Namjoon leaves him alone in the space with a dimpled grin, shutting the door behind him. In the slums, there is no such thing as true silence, but the noise of the streets below seem muffled by the fabric on the walls.

Jimin sets his bag down on the bed, sighing. He stands blankly for a long moment, taking in the room. Finally, he forces his legs to move and changes out of that ridiculous costume Heleen had made him wear. He gets the sudden urge to burn the outfit, tin buttons and tight bodice taunting him silently. He feels the familiar pricking fear, that he has only traded one cage for another. In fact, his new room looks similar to his old one at the Menagerie. But, there is a difference, somehow. While the Menagerie had felt like a mockery of his homeland and its colors, this felt authentic, honest. Even as he looks around, the deception fades from before his eyes. There are no lies in the simple silks hanging from the ceiling. 

Jimin shakes his head to clear the doubt away, finishing changing into his sleep clothes and climbing into the bed. The last few hours have passed in a whirlwind, and though he’s exhausted, he can’t seem to find sleep. He stares at the ceiling, listening to the muted footsteps and voices from downstairs. He wonders if Namjoon has a client, just a room away from his. He wonders if the news of his arrival has spread to the rest of the Storks, and what their reactions will be when he sees them. He wonders if Yoongi has murdered another man, somewhere in the dark shadows of Ketterdam. In the middle of all this thoughts, sleep sweeps him away and he doesn’t dream of anything. 

In the morning, around eight, Namjoon wakes him. Dressing quickly, Jimin follows the older man downstairs. As a contrast to the night before, the hallway and lobby well lit by lamps. The main room has couches and small tables dotted across the floor, with booths set into the walls. Against the far wall is a bar, with many bottles in a variety of colors. A motley group of men sit among the couches, eating and talking. Some look sleepy, leaning on their elbows, shadows apparent under their eyes. Others look more awake, gulping down mugs of dark liquid before calling goodbyes and leaving. Jimin figures it must be a shift change from their gambling hall, The High Roost, something Namjoon had mentioned last night. 

Surprisingly, there are a few women too, dressed in trousers and carrying pistols. They sit among the rest of the gang, absorbed in their conversations. In the crowd, Jimin catches sight of an eye patch, and spots Jin on one of the couches, engaged in some type of debate with another Stork. No one seems to notice Namjoon and his entrance, or if they do, they make a good job of not showing it.

Namjoon weaves his way around the edge of the room towards the bar, where a man stands beside a thick iron pot set atop the counter. The man smiles at Namjoon and fills two bowls with steaming broth, a side of rice on the side. Jimin receives his own bowl with a bow, the man serving him beaming back. His left cheek is marked with a faint scar, running from the bottom of his cheekbone to just before the corner of his upper lip. Jimin thinks about embroidered tigers and wonders if all the Storks carry scars from their choices. 

As he walks beside Namjoon to an empty table, he runs his thumb around the edge of the ceramic bowl and thinks about scars, and the injuries you can’t see. He wonders if he’ll carry scars as a Stork in the future, and whether he’s already marred by his time in the Menagerie. He sits next to Namjoon and takes small sips of his broth. It’s surprisingly good, simple and salty. Namjoon pushes the drooping sleeves of his loose shirt up his forearms, and Jimin finds himself staring at his gang tattoo again. Namjoon catches his gaze, a knowing glint in his eyes. 

“It comes from the saying.” Jimin’s head jerks upward. He hadn’t noticed how obvious he had been about his curiosity. 

“What saying?” Namjoon traces a finger over the heavy lines of the tattoo.

“When a crow-tit walks like a stork, it will tear in two.” Jimin remembers his mother distantly, telling his older brother the same thing. Jimin studies Namjoon’s forearm.

“Is that why you’re the Storks? Because of a proverb?” Namjoon smirks.

“Because anyone who tries to act like us gets themselves torn apart.” Namjoon grins grimly. 

After breakfast, Namjoon bids farewell to the mostly empty common room, and takes Jimin back upstairs. He points down the hall, to one of the doors at the end of the corridor. 

“You’ll need some other clothes. That’s Taehyung’s room, our resident Grisha tailor. He can get you some things to wear, and get rid of that tattoo as well.” He looks pointedly where Jimin’s peacock feather from the Menagerie sits, staining the inside of his elbow. Jimin tucks his arm closer and nods. Namjoon smiles at him one last time before disappearing into his room once more. 

Jimin pads down the hall, hesitant in the dim corners of the worn building. Stopping in front of the door, he pauses, then inhales and knocks twice in the same movement. He hears the knock resound in the room behind the door, and a moment later, hears a muffled reply. He bites his lip, unsure, but takes it as an approval to enter the room.

He opens the door, careful eyes surveying a hazy room. It has a dresser covered in various vials and jars, spilling onto the heap of laundry piled at the bottom of the wardrobe. It’s messy, but not made-up like his and Namjoon’s rooms are. Across from the dresser is a single bed, its sheets bunched at the bottom. 

On the bed, Jimin realizes, are two men, messily making out with one another. Jimin freezes. He wonders if he’s just interrupted a session with a client, a terrible offence. He’s about to back out as silently as he can, but one of the men looks up before he can make an escape. His sandy hair is falling into his eyes, but he seems to know who Jimin is immediately. His lips still swollen from his previous activities, he pulls away from the other man and grins at Jimin. 

“Hey! You must be the new arrival! I’m Taehyung!” He gets up off of the man, who doesn’t seem too upset about the sudden shift in gears. Taehyung crosses the room to the dresser, shoving aside the many containers and muttering to himself. 

The other man sits up, and Jimin can see that it’s the man with the scarred cheek from downstairs, the one who had served him and Namjoon breakfast. He seems unphased by Taehyung’s quick change in mood. He quirks a smile at Jimin, who blushes back. He doesn’t understand why all these people are smiling at him. 

Taehyung tosses a few articles of clothing onto the bed, narrowly missing his...partner? Client? Jimin isn’t sure how Taehyung fits into the gang. Namjoon had said he was Grisha tailor, but did he also whore himself out? Taehyung stands and bounces over to Jimin, holding a loose red shirt with a pair of dark pants draped over his arm. He holds the shirt up to Jimin’s chest, narrowing his eyes at Jimin’s shoulders and arms. He turns back to the bed, calling out,

“Hobi, does this make his arms look big? Or he should be more delicate?” The man shrugs.

“How ‘bout you ask him what he wants?” Taehyung looks back at Jimin with a cheery expression.

“What’s your name, newbie?” 

“Jimin.” Taehyung nods agreeably.

“And what look do you like Jimin, delicate, or big strong buff guy like Hoseok over there?” Hoseok acquiesces in flexing from his spot on the bed, smiling indulgently. Jimin shrugs timidly, but offers, 

“Where I used to work, my clients, they liked when I was more, fragile I guess?” Taehyung examines him briefly with a discerning gaze. He drops the red shirt unconcernedly, returning to the pile of clothes. Jimin stands awkwardly, unsure of what he should be doing. Hoseok finally rises from the bed, his movements graceful despite the clumsy nature of the action. He offers his hand to Jimin, who shakes it with caution. 

“Like Tae said, I’m Hoseok. I can’t do what Tae does, but,” Hoseok shrugs, “I offer moral support?” Taehyung chooses that moment to bounce back over to the pair, this time carrying a yellow bundle. He holds it out to Jimin, 

“Here, try this on! As soon as we find you at outfit, we’ll get you a tattoo and change your hair, if you want!” Jimin looks on with wide eyes, a bit bowled over by Taehyung’s enthusiasm. Hoseok seems to sense this, and gently herds him out of the room, saying, 

“Let’s let Jimin get changed in peace, okay?” with Taehyung happily chattering out the door. And suddenly, he’s alone in a much quieter room, still clutching the bundle Taehyung had shoved at him. He unfolds it gingerly, the fabric soft as it flows over his fingers. It’s a loose white shirt without sleeves, the collar laces undone to the middle of the chest. It’s paired with a cloudy yellow robe, the sleeves going past his fingertips. The fabric is floaty and sheer, settling comfortably over his shoulders when he pulls it on. 

In the mirror, he almost doesn’t recognize himself. Despite it being the same face from the Menagerie’s mirror, it seems much different. Maybe it’s the full stomach, or the night’s sleep without a client. Maybe it’s Min Yoongi’s black magic. Jimin hunches his shoulders, testing out the fit of the robe. He looks like the sun in this color, like a character drawn on the walls of the temple he used to visit in Shu Han. 

He abruptly remembers where he is, and opens the door to let Taehyung and Hoseok back in. Taehyung coos over Jimin, praising the shape of his face. Hoseok stands in silent approval, smiling softly. 

Taehyung also gives him a few shirts and pairs of pants to wear when he wasn't with a client. Then, he sits him down on the bed with a bottle of ink and a jar of a strange orange power. 

“Stay still,” Taehyung has his tongue between his teeth, focusing intently on drawing a stork on Jimin’s upper arm. Jimin had picked that spot because he could hide it easily with a shirt. Not all clients wanted to see a gang symbol in the middle of their fun. The ink is cool on his skin, but Jimin thinks that his shivers are more due to whatever Taehyung is doing, the dark lines sinking bit by bit into his skin. It doesn’t hurt, but there is an odd sensation of fizzing where the ink lies. 

They sit in the late morning sunlight, which filters in weakly from a fogged up window in the far upper corner of the room. Hoseok had left around the time Taehyung had started the tattoo, claiming he had other duties at the gambling house. Taehyung works mostly in silence, fixated on his task. Occasionally, he’ll grunt or make some small noise. Jimin tries to remain as still as possible. 

Finally, after liberal application of the orange powder and a little bit of Taehyung’s mumbling, the man sits back and exclaims,

“Done! I think this is my best one yet!” Jimin draws his shoulder inward and tries to get a good look at it in the mirror. It looks good, if a little strange. It feels solid, dependable, in a way the thin lines of the Menagerie tattoo never had. Speaking of which, he self-consciously touches the inside of his other wrist, where it sits. He’s double-marked now, sworn to two different brothels. Taehyung notices his touch and sits him down on the bed again. Another several minutes of focus yield a bare wrist. Jimin marvels at the pink skin.

“You really are a powerful tailor.” Taehyung glances up from where he had been screwing on the lid to a jar of white paste, now speckled with flecks of black. He beams at the compliment.

“Thank you! I’m really not, I just know how to do tattoos and hair color. And about your tattoo, it’s only mostly permanent.You’ll need to come back in a few months and have me redo parts of it. I was actually redoing Hoseok’s before we got, uh, sidetracked.” He grins sheepishly as he sets the jars back on the chaotic dresser, seemingly blind to the clutter. Jimin fiddles with the end of his shirt. He had taken off the yellow robe, to save it from becoming stained by ink.

“And Hoseok, is he, a client of yours?” Taehyung blinks, then laughs.

“Oh no! I don’t offer those kinds of services, only my Grisha talents. Hoseok and I are...involved, one would say. He was my first friend in the Storks, and he helped me find a place I could hide.” Jimin nods. Grisha are prized in Shu Han, taken and owned by the government the second their powers make an appearance. Jimin remembers watching a young girl being dragged away by soldiers, her mother screaming after them in the streets. He’s glad he’s not gifted with the “small sciences,” as they call it. 

By now, it’s late morning, the hustle and bustle of the downstairs common area having quieted down after the shift change. Taehyung sends him on his way with his new clothes and a cheery wave, himself leaving The Tiger’s Eye to run a few errands. Jimin heads back to his room and sorts through his new belongings, however few they are. It’s nice to even have enough shirts to fold into a drawer. It feels nice to own things.

He spends the rest of the day in his room, unsure of whether he’s allowed outside, or if there are restrictions on where he can travel. Namjoon stops by at one point with lunch and several books. They eat together in companionable silence, then Namjoon retires to his own room, to do Saints know what. Jimin starts to read the books that Namjoon left. His knowledge of Kerch is mostly verbal, but he can read moderately well, and thankfully, some of the books are actually in Shu. 

He’s so deep into a particular book about a far off land and its lonely city that he startles when a knock comes at the door. He marks his page and goes to answer it, pulling his shirt down where it had ridden up his back.

It’s Namjoon at the door again. This time, he comes bearing a paper bag and a raised eyebrow. 

“You really must have lost track of time. Didn’t you hear the six o’clock whistle?” Jimin shakes his head. He hadn’t even noticed the sun setting outside, though he has no window. Namjoon holds up the paper bag. “I brought you some supplies you might deem..necessary.” Jimin takes the bag, which he discovers holds a bottle of lubricant. Jimin blushes and politely thanks the man. Namjoon waves him off. 

“It’s really no problem. Are you settling in well? I notice your Menagerie tattoo is gone, Taehyung must have worked his magic on you.” Jimin nods eagerly. He’s about to comment on Taehyung’s excitable attitude when someone clears their throat from the doorway. 

Min Yoongi’s silhouette only seems to amplify his aura of barely contained power. Though his hands are clasped with poise, his eyes contain a certain brutal truth. He steps forward into the room, and Jimin has to bite his lip, but from what to stop himself from saying, he isn’t sure. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I fear Jimin’s a little busy for the rest of the evening.” Jimin’s spine goes ramrod straight. “He’s got a client, if he so chooses.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF SORRY FOR THE CLIFFHANGER  
> But damn now you've gotta keep reading, right?
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this next chapter!   
> Comments/kudos are very much appreciated!!!
> 
> Come find me on Twitter at https://twitter.com/sunstarsseokjin   
> Unless you're that creepy old guy named Floyd, I will certainly engage in some Prime BTS Meme-ery!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A low voice inside of him whispers lowly, that Yoongi made another man bleed for him. He thinks about what Hoseok said, asking why he took a dangerous man into his bed. Is it that he truly feels indebted? Or is Yoongi just another mystery to fill his time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK I KNOW IT'S BEEN WAY TOO LONG SINCE I'VE UPDATED   
> and for that I'm very sorry. Class has started back up again and I've found myself busier than I expected to be. Thank you for your patience! 
> 
> Here's the next chapter, where Jimin takes a client for Yoongi.   
> Trigger Warning for semi-explicit attempted sexual assault and light violence. Please be safe!

Jimin shifts his robe across his shoulders again, for the dozenth time. 

He kicks his legs from where he sits on the bed, just for something to do. He has a client. Yoongi had delivered the news with such finality, the gang leader’s mouth turned down at the corners. He really isn’t sure what to expect, but at the same time, it’s like he can see the entire evening stretching out before him. It’s the pattern he’s been devoted to for the last two years:

The man will walk in. The man will hand him a wad of bills Jimin won’t count in favor of slipping his arms around the man’s neck. The man will place his hands on Jimin’s hips. Jimin won’t protest when the man pushes him onto the bed. The man leaves. Jimin won’t let himself feel guilty for enjoying it. 

But now, he has another job. Now, he has an ulterior motive. Now, he’s tasked with drawing out their secrets as well. Jimin fidgets with his clothing again. All Yoongi had told him was that this man had information about a rival gang’s drug supply routes, and word on the street was he had just come from a successful delivery. He had no idea how he was suppose to retrieve that information.

The head of the Storks had left him to stew in his room while the man was shepherded upstairs. Jimin had hurriedly cleared away the books he had laying open on his bed, quickly checking to make sure his appearance was up to standard. He finds himself absurdly nervous, though he’d learned a long time ago that all men in Ketterdam were the same.

He’s about to adjust his outfit for the billionth time when the door creaks open. Jimin can hear Hoseok’s voice, his accented Kerch muffled by the walls.

“-here’s a room and some entertainment for you. Enjoy yourself, you hear?” A man stumbles into the room, clearly intoxicated. He laughs at Hoseok’s words, clapping the scarred man on the shoulder, where he’s still out of sight from Jimin.

“Oh, I will! Thanks, brother!” Hoseok’s polite laugh fades as the door shuts and the man faces Jimin. He’s tall, with a pale face marked with hunger and a healing gash on his chin. He takes a long, leering look at Jimin, taking a step forward.

“Ooh, how’d a pretty thing like yourself end up in this shithole of a brothel?” Jimin doesn’t answer, just rises from the bed. He already has a smile pasted onto his face, the one he knows draw men closer. He crosses the room, feeling the man’s eyes linger on his hips. This is his stage, and he can be whatever character he must be to survive.

As soon as he stops in front of the man, just an inch too close for strangers, the man thrusts out a stack of kruge, slightly damp from being in his outside coat pocket. Clearly, this is something the man does often. Jimin’s smile grows and he pockets the money swiftly. Most clients want to forget they’re paying the people in their bed. 

In coming closer, he also notices a corner of an envelope sticking out of the man’s breast pocket. Jimin tries not to show his interest in the paper. It might just be a letter to the man’s mother, but it might be what Yoongi wants. Jimin’s not willing to take that chance. The envelope just became priority number one. 

He cups the man’s cheek, letting his fingers trace over the unattractive shape of the man’s nose. The man leers at him again, “Like what you see, whore?” Jimin used to hate that word. He doesn't flinch anymore. Instead, he runs his hand down the man’s shoulder and arm to his hand, which he takes, and tugs the man towards the bed. The man laughs, a grating sound.

“Eager, are we, eh?” The man presses him back until the back of his knees touch the mattress. The man lets him go momentarily to shuck off his coat, letting it pool in a dirty heap on the floor. The envelope is hidden under the folds of the fabric, but Jimin isn’t willing to give up. He abruptly changes their position, so now the man is the one backed against the bed. The man startles, then chuckles. 

“Silent little devil, aren’t you?” Jimin still doesn’t answer, just drags his hands down the man’s chest in a suggestive way. Meanwhile, his left foot searches blindly in the fallen coat for the envelope. He tries to keep his movements small, as to not alert the man what his real plan is. The man seems hypnotized for a moment by Jimin, then snaps out of it.

“Oh, I know who you are. You’re that one Shu whore who doesn’t talk durin’ his business.” The man’s smile isn’t kind. “They say you got all sort of secrets in that head o’ yours.” Jimin cocks his head to the side, feigning innocence while his toes scrabble for the feeling of paper. The man’s eyes rake hungrily over his body, the hands on his hips squeezing tighter. The man’s fingertips rest just above the waistband of his trousers, and Jimin shivers at the sensation of unwashed calluses. Where is that envelope? 

The man starts to push the robe off of Jimin’s shoulders. Jimin keeps his arms up by cupping the man’s jaw, the robe pooling in the crook of his elbow. When his clothes come off, his chance of retrieving the envelope are gone. His foot jerks too quickly, and a button clinks against the floor. The man’s eyes start to stray, but Jimin kisses him, keeping the focus on him. He thinks he’s got it, a corner of the envelope under his big toe. He almost has it-

The man kisses him harshly. Jimin does his best to keep up, but half his mind is on his foot and the envelope, where he’s almost got it out from under the coat. The man clutches the back of Jimin’s neck, drawing him even closer. He mutters into Jimin’s ear,

“Still not a word, eh? I wonder what you got tucked up in there for me? What’s all inside your skull?” A trickle of unease runs down Jimin’s spine. He tries to pull away, the envelope under the ball of his foot, but the man won’t let him. “I got secrets too, y’hear? I seen things you never dreamed of.” The man taps the side of his head with his free hand. “In Klaus’s head, the powders, they tell me what to do.” His eyes are too wide, his pupils swollen. Jimin realizes the man is not drunk, but high on some hallucinogen. 

The envelope still concealed under his foot, the man, Klas, tugs the robe off him, his movements no longer heavy and slow. Jimin’s breath hitches, but he forces himself to remain calm. He allows the man to roughly take his shirt off as well, both items of clothing tossed into some corner of the room. The envelope is burning a hole into the floor beneath his foot. Jimin’s about to reciprocate by unbuttoning Klaus’s waistcoat, but before he can do so much as touch a button, the man has him by the upper arms and is flipping him around. 

Jimin lies disoriented atop the rumpled sheets. The man leans over him. He presses himself down against Jimin’s bare chest, making it hard for the younger man to breathe. 

“You’ve got pretty eyes sweetheart. They say pretty eyes hide ugly secrets. I wonder who you’d be without those eyes.” The sour doubt in his stomach grows. Klaus’s teeth are uncomfortably close to his ear, and he’s suddenly aware of the rough fabric of the man’s waistcoat on his chest. He pushes up, trying to regain some control, but the man won’t let him. A hand reaches down to fiddle with the buttons to his pants.

Jimin has been working in brothels for over two years. He isn’t always wanting, but he’s willing. The hired men in the lobby kept away those who were truly dangerous, or so Jimin was told. Sometimes, he would hear about girls and boys strangled to death, bruised or beated, found lying in their rooms. The bouncers were supposed to protect the staff, but Jimin had a feeling that some pleasures were worth more than a working girl to the owners. 

Bouncers were also suppose to screen for the drunkards and those high on whatever substance they dug out of the gutter. While they tried their best, it was not uncommon for brothels to let in a man willing to fork over a few extra kruge over, no matter his clarity of mind. 

Jimin isn’t sure how the man slipped through, but it can’t be helped now. Maybe this man needed to be inebriated, for Jimin to be able to pry secrets from him. 

Right now, all Jimin wants to do is pry the man’s fingers free from his wrists, to breathe deeply. Klaus clumsily tugs at the waist of Jimin’s pants. Jimin is almost about to resign himself to a rough night and to unbutton his pants himself, when the man suddenly has a knife in his hand. 

Jimin is smart enough to go limp, breathing heavily as his eyes trace the edge of the knife. The man holds it in a loose grip with nimble fingers.

“I wonder what’d all those secrets would look like outside of your head, all curled out onto this pillow. I wonder who’d pay for a whore who’s missing his eyes.” Jimin flinches, and the man laughs. The knife flashes and a bright pain blooms on his temple, near the corner of his eye. Jimin opens his mouth, starts to shout, but the man covers his mouth with a large hand. Jimin kicks out, rocking the man, almost succeeding in getting him off of himself. The man growls and carves another cut into Jimin, parallel to the first. Jimin yells louder, all worry about completing his mission gone. This is more than pleasing Yoongi, this is about keeping his life. 

Jimin kicks again, arms struggling against his man’s restraining hand. He bites the fingers covering his mouth, causing the man to yell and kerl backwards. Jimin manages to yell, 

“Help!-” Just as the man pins him again, forcibly rolling him over and onto his stomach. In this position, Jimin’s arm is pinned beneath himself and his nose is pressed into the mattress. The man puts more pressure on his back, making it even harder for him to breath. Panic and black spots dance above his eyelids, his knees sliding useless against the sheets. 

Suddenly, the man is gone from on top of him, and Jimn can breathe. The cuts on his cheek drip blood into his eye as he rolls over to sit up. Across the room, the door to his room is thrown open, and there are people flooding in. Spots dance in front of his vision, and he clutches his head. Someone puts a hand on his shoulder, and he flinches before he realizes it’s Hoseok, a concerned expression on his face. 

“Focus on me. Are you okay? Did he cut you anywhere else?” As he speaks, he presses a balled up handkerchief against Jimin’s temple, attempting to stop the bleeding. 

“No, I’m fine-I just need a moment.” By the way Hoseok’s biting his lip, Jimin doesn’t think the older man believes him, but he doesn’t say anything. The commotion in the room has quieted significantly. Taehyung stands in the doorway, fingers white against the doorframe. When Jimin makes eye contact with him, Taehyung lets go of the doorway and rushes over. 

“I heard the yelling from my room, left behind some girl who wanted green eyes instead of brown, and saw them kick a guy out-what did he do?” He sees Hoseok’s red-spotted handkerchief and gasps. “He cut you? Are you okay?” Jimin waves him off. He’s still working on getting air to all parts of his lungs. Hoseok checks to see if Jimin’s still bleeding, clucks his tongue and reapplies the cloth.

“It’s just a bit of blood, Tae. He’ll be right as rain in the morning. The cuts aren’t deep, they won’t even scar.” Taehyung frowns, picking up Jimin’s discarded robe and draping it over Jimin’s shoulders. 

“It’s not just a cut, it’s that Jimin was attacked! Aren’t you supposed to watch for the violent ones? You shouldn’t have let him handle a crazy guy on his first night!” Hoseok starts to protest, but Jimin can tell he feels culpable by his weak tone. He interjects, pulling the robe around his bare chest.

“It’s not Hoseok-hyung’s fault. I was working for Yoongi and I agreed to take a client.” Hoseok has him hold the handkerchief against his head himself. Taehyung crosses his arms,

“Then I’m mad at Yoongi too.”

“Mad at me for what?” Min Yoongi stands in the doorway, wiping his ringed fingers with a spare rag. His shirtsleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and his hair is sticking up on one side. Despite this, he somehow retains his air of authority. Jimin feels the warmth he had just regained drain away, bare as he is. Yoongi is made of ice, a man frozen in time. 

Taehyung, however, is not deterred by the known criminal and gang leader in the room. He points an accusing finger,

“Jimin got hurt because of a job he was working for you. You knew the man was dangerous.”

“Everyone in the Barrel is a little dangerous, Tae.” He drops the rag on the footboard, and Jimin thinks he sees blood stains before Yoongi shifts and blocks his view. “But for what it’s worth, I did not expect him to brutalize Jimin, and for that I am sorry.” Jimin looks up and sees what might be regret in Yoongi’s eyes. Taehyung makes a satisfied noise. The cuts on Jimin’s temple throb. 

“It’s okay. I know you didn’t know what would happen either.” Even Jimin is surprised about the softness of his own voice. Hoseok raises an eyebrow. Yoongi just looks at him, his expression clouded. 

“At last, our quiet little butterfly speaks.” Jimin flushes. The he remembers-

“Oh!” and reaches under the bed.   
It has to be here, it has to be under-aha! He reappears with the envelope in hand, having kicked it under the bed as he had been tossed onto the mattress by the man. Taehyung takes it from his hand, peering at it curiously. 

“What is it? Something the client left behind?” The Stork’s leader steps closer, and Jimin fights not the shrink backwards. 

“That is our ticket to the big leagues.” Yoongi’s voice is full of pride, and Jimin feels something in his chest pulse. “Well done, Jimin.” Hoseok’s eyes are wide.

“Wait, is that-?” Yoongi nods, and Hoseok laughs out loud. Jimin looks between the two of them, confused, but his attention is pulled to Taehyung, who asks,

“How’d you manage to get that off him without him noticing?” Jimin shrugs. Yoongi takes the envelope from Taehyung, carefully tucking it away in his pocket, chastising the Grisha,

“Don’t you know it’s impolite to ask a magician his secrets? The magic’s in not knowing.” Taehyung waves his hand dismissively, but drops his questions. However, Jimin’s curiosity cannot be contained, so he asks, 

“What’s in the envelope, anyways?” Yoongi has started to leave the room, but he turns back to Jimin briefly.

“Exactly what you promised me.” And with that, he’s gone, the stained rag the only sign he’d ever been in the room. Hoseok huffs, then stands from where he’d been crouched by Jimin’s side.

“Well, it seems like you did your job, whatever that means. The bleeding has mostly stopped, but be sure to bandage it and keep pressure on it. I’ll check back in the morning.” Hoseok’s hand lingers on his shoulder. “Call me if you need anything, alright? If it starts to feel hot or if it reopens, tell me right away.” Jimin nods. Hoseok is a good man, better than most in the Barrel.

Taehyung also stands, pulling Jimin up with him and into a hug. The younger boy holds him close, hissing into his ear,

“I was so worried. Don’t get hurt again.” Jimin draws back and smiles sadly at Taehyung. 

“I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try my best, as long as you promise the same.” Jimin doesn’t know why, but he’s taken a liking to the earnest boy. Taehyung nods solemnly, then breaks back into his signature grin. 

“I’ve really got to get back. You sure you don’t want anyone to stay with you? It’s really no weakness to feel scared after something like that.” Jimin shakes his head.

“No, I think I’d actually benefit from being by myself. Thank you for the offer though, I appreciate it.” Taehyung wishes Jimin goodnight before leaving. Hoseok, about to follow him, stops in the doorway, turning back to Jimin.

“You didn’t have to take that job. You knew the man was dangerous.” Jimin isn’t sure what point Hoseok’s trying to make.

“Yes.” 

“So why’d you do it?” Hoseok’s face is half illuminated by the lamps in the hall, his features thrown into sharp relief.

“I suppose I feel...indebted to Yoongi-ssi.” Hoseok’s lip quirks, the shadow jumping across his face.

“He cut a man’s face for you, Jimin. I suppose he wouldn’t mind too terribly if you were to call him Yoongi-hyung. Goodnight.” With that, Hoseok leaves Jimin to his thoughts, and to wonder whatever Hoseok meant by that last cryptic statement. 

Jimin takes a moment to survey him empty room, the walls still seeming to echo with the voices of many people. His head is still spinning from the rapid events. Just fifteen minutes ago, he was held down on this bed, a bed he’s now going to sleep on. He shivers, standing to retrieve an actual shirt from the dresser. As he pulls a cotton overshirt over his head, he catches sight of the rag Yoongi had dropped onto the footboard, its rusty red stains taunting him. 

A low voice inside of him whispers lowly, that Yoongi made another man bleed for him. Jimin flicks the rag off the end of the bed and ignores its crumpled form on the floor. He shucks off his pants, climbing under the covers. He thinks about what Hoseok said, asking why he took a dangerous man into his bed. Is it that he truly feels indebted? Or is Yoongi just another mystery to fill his time? 

And even as Jimin thinks about the glacial gang leader, he can still feel the man’s hands on his shoulders, pressing against his windpipe, trailing roughly over his hip bones. He can still hear the man’s rasp in his ears, the slick fear crawling up his back. He turns over onto his other side. He does what he does every night he works. He takes what he needs from the memory, then promptly does his best to forget it. He thinks instead about the envelope, and what it could contain. It must be important, for Yoongi to trust him with retrieving it. Or it could be something of little consequence, as a sign of his expendability. 

Despite the exhaustion tugging at his arms, and the questions to distract his mind with, it takes Jimin a long while to find sleep.

In the morning, someone knocks on his door while he dresses. He assumes it’s Taehyung or Hoseok, come to check on his injury and, in Taehyung’s case, hang off of him like a baby bear. He answers the door rubbing sleep from his eyes.

It’s not the Grisha boy or his partner at the door. Jin leans against the doorframe, his arms folded, knives at his waist and embroidered tiger winking at him. Jimin gulps, but tries not to let his surprise show. Before he can get a word in edgewise, Jin is walking forward, forcing Jimin to tread backwards into the room. Jin takes in the rumpled sheets and stack of books with a placid eyes. 

“I hear you had an eventful night.” Jin’s tone gives away none of his true intent. Jimin chooses his words carefully, aware of the older man’s tendency for wild mood swings. 

“Yes, I’m just glad I could complete my job.” Jin raises an eyebrow.

“Oh? What kind of a job?” Something about him tells Jimin that the man knows about his task already. 

“Something Yoongi asked me to do.” Jin keeps eye contact, then deliberately looks away, studying the fabric hangings on the walls.

“I heard Yoongi pulled you out of a bad spot on this job. Would you call that completing your job, Jimin?” The conversation feels like a minefield.

“I’m grateful that Yoongi and Hoseok knew something was wrong and helped me. But I would say I did complete the job; I had the envelope before he took control of the situation.” Jimin focuses on not flinching from Jin’s piercing glare. Then, the man’s gaze lightens, and he smiles.

“Yes, and we’re proud of you. You seem like a worthwhile investment.” Jimin isn’t sure whether this is a compliment or not, but Jin doesn’t have a knife to his throat, so he counts it as a success. “If you like, I can help teach you how to defend yourself, incase something were to happen again, Ghezen forbid. A Stork is never without his share of tricks, and is never caught defenseless.” Jimin dares to smile.

“That would be kind of you, Jin-ssi. I would very much like that.” Jin sniffs,

“Call me hyung. And it would be merciful, not kind. Accompany me to breakfast.” The words aren’t so much a request than a statement. Jimin dips his head, following Jin out the door and down the stairs.

He gets a few stares in the common room for his cuts, which are mostly scabbed over. Jin walks with purpose, ignoring how the chatter quiets down when he and Jimin walk past. They both get food from someone who is not Hoseok. At their table, where Jin has claimed court, they are joined by Namjoon. The purple haired man fusses over Jimin’s cuts, but says nothing about the man’s actions. Both of them know too well that men like that will always exist, and that it will happen again.

They enjoy their meal in relative silence, listening to the building waking up. Namjoon and Jin are comfortable company, and Jimin relaxes for the first time since the previous day in their presence. 

He startles when someone calls his name from across the room. He looks up to see Taehyung, followed by another boy, looking even younger than him. Jin mutters something under his breath about Taehyung, and Namjoon snorts quietly. Taehyung waves as he gets closer.

“Jimin! There’s someone I want you to meet! Yoongi says you can go out today, but you’ll need someone to go with you. So I decided you could go with us!” He gestures to the boy next to him. “This is Jeongguk, he’s another Stork like us.” Jimin nods politely at the boy, but Jeongguk looks taken aback. Jimin frowns, unsure if he’s done something wrong. Jin starts to say something, but Jeongguk interrupts him, blurting out,

“Jimin-hyung! Why are you here?” All eyes turn to Jimin, and he feels him face flush. He has no idea who this boy is, but by the looks of it, he’s about to find out soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING!
> 
> I'll update next as soon as I find the time. Bless all of you.
> 
> Comments/kudos are very much appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite the odds, Yoongi and his Storks had happened. 
> 
> They had come in and given Jimin a taste of home. And for the first time since his arrival in Ketterdam, he had felt the smallest flicker of hope, that one day, maybe he could even see his hometown, the soil he was born on. 
> 
> But Jeongguk just had to appear, and bring it all crashing back down faster than Jimin had thought possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies!
> 
> Thanks for sticking around during the long breaks between updates! You guys are super awesome!  
> I really hope you enjoy this chapter! I had a lot of fun writing it, and I'm excited to keep writing as well. The story is picking up, and you get a little bit of backstory. Also, be sure and check the end notes for extra details and commentary on the story. 
> 
> Happy Reading!

It hits him like a slap to the face.

Jimin can feel the chill of the open dormitory door brushing frigid fingers up his back, where his shirt had ridden up. The breath of two dozen other boys fog the air, steaming and freezing at the same time. He remembers bleary eyes, crammed into the lower bunk next to another body. He swallows, and he knows the other body can feel the movement. They’re all pressed close together, huddled close for warmth. The dark of the room is pressing in on them, spilling out the door. 

The other boy’s eyelids twitch, and Jimin tracks the movement. His arms ache from the day’s work, but how he wishes to smooth the tips of his fingers over the boy’s eyelids, his cheekbones, the bow of his lips. 

Jimin had known before this, in the way other boys talked, that he wasn’t like them. There was something different about the way he carried himself, viewed the world. Maybe it was that his father was hardly home? Or something he had done to deserve alienation? He wasn’t sure. But he learned early on to hide this difference, keeping his eyes and his thoughts to himself. He had expected the life set in front of him: to take an apprenticeship in town, marry some faceless girl who would have children - maybe his own - and to die after years of sitting on his porch and watching the world pass him by.

But then his father’s gambling debts fell through, and he was sold off to the coast to work in a factory. The days were long and the work was arduous. He would have wished with all his being to go home, to at least familiarity. But the factory was where he met that ‘otherness’ head on.

Jeon was different. Different like him. He was two years younger than Jimin, with deep eyes and baby fat still on his cheeks. He was from the same region, his accent ringing of home. Jimin never knew his first name. There was no time, between exhaustion and uncertainty. After several months of whispered words before passing out in the dorms, it seemed like there was no reason to trade anything more about themselves. There was comfort in anonymity and in the presence of another human. 

They hadn’t done much together. Most nights, they were too tired to try anything. They had traded awkward kisses, till it hadn’t been awkward anymore. Jimin had run his hands over Jeon’s prominent ribs, promising silently to give Jeon his next ration, and once the younger boy had groped Jimin’s ass under his pants. It had never gotten far. The dormitories were far too crowded, and they hardly knew what they were doing. All the same, Jeon was someone solid in Jimin’s life. It might not have been love, but it was a connection Jimin gripped with all his strength.

Then the slavers had come and taken him in the night. He had been ripped away from Jeon, the yells and shouts boxing his ears. His last sight was of Jeon’s calf kicking out, bare skin white in the moonlight. A sack was then jammed over his head, muffling his scream, and the world went dark, and silent.

To be honest, Jimin’s not certain about what he did or did not tell Jeon about himself. The factory was over two years ago, and the nights had blurred together. He had forgotten Jeon even existed. It just wasn’t important, between the Menagerie, Tante Heleen, and trying to learn Kerch. The only time he made an effort to remember the boy was when Tante Heleen asked if he liked men. He had recalled Jeon’s eyes, the biting sharp twist in his stomach when the younger boy had touched him. He had nodded, and Tante Heleen had efficiently assigned him to an all-male clientele.

It’s been years since he last thought about Jeon, and the factory. He hadn’t wanted to remember it at all, the longing easier to bear when he pretended it had never existed. His home is far away, in another time, where he wasn’t scarred and jaded, where he wouldn’t hide his voice or sell his body. Until Yoongi and the Storks, he had even resigned himself to never speaking Shu again, to never hearing its melodic syllables. 

Despite the odds, Yoongi and his Storks had happened. They had come in and given Jimin a taste of home. The language, the clothes, the food, everything. It’s like it never forgot him, as much as he tried to forget it. And for the first time since his arrival in Ketterdam, he had felt the smallest flicker of hope, that one day, maybe he could even see his hometown, the soil he was born on. 

But Jeongguk just had to appear, and bring it all crashing back down faster than Jimin had thought possible.

Standing next to Taehyung, Jeongguk stares at him, mouth gaping. Namjoon, Seokjin, and Taehyung all look lost, glancing between the two boys with confusion and incredulity. Jimin can see it, in the tilt of his neck, the shape of his eyes. Saints, those eyes are the same, even after all this time.

It’s undeniable; the longer Jimin looks at this boy, the more of Jeon he recognizes. 

Jimin keeps his hands from shaking as he sets down his bowl, but just barely. He stands, stares, whispers,

“Jeon, is that you?” It’s almost like an admittance would break the self-imposed amnesia Jimin had over his life, the silence he uses on his inner voice. Jeongguk nods, biting his lip.

“Yes, it’s me, hyung-” He moves forward, but stops himself abruptly. There is a moments worth of hesitation, years pushing them apart. Jimin doesn’t care about years. This is his Jeon, Jeon Jeongguk.

They crash together, holding each other tightly. Jimin can feel the flex of the muscles in Jeon’s back. He’s taller, now a good inch or two above Jimin’s head. He’s still young, the age Jimin was when he last saw Jeon. It’s absurd, to meet like this, again after so long and so many miles. But he’s real. He’s in Jimin’s arms, a piece of home, a piece of his past. 

“You look the same.” Jeongguk smiles, looks like he might cry as well. “I’m so glad you’re safe.” 

When they separate, Jimin catches sight of Yoongi behind Jeongguk, standing in the doorway on the common room. Yoongi looks on with narrowed eyes, a granite cliff with no visible emotion. He slips away as the group around them start to question what just happened. Taehyung puts a hand on each of their shoulders.

“Wait, Jimin, you know Jeonggukie? From before?” Namjoon’s eyebrows go up.

“From Shu Han?” Jimin nods, turning back from staring after Yoongi to look at the other three. Jeongguk’s still holding onto his elbow. Jeongguk explains,

“We worked at the same factory together, before the slavers raided it.” Seokjin squints, 

“Wait, Jeongguk, is this-” Jeongguk yelps suddenly, nodding vigorously before Seokjin can finish his sentence. Taehyung squeals, making all four of them jump. 

“This is so cool! It’s great that you guys know each other! Now we can all be friends!” Namjoon looks amused, while Seokjin takes a blithe sip of his tea. Jeongguk and Jimin glance at each other. Jimin doesn’t know if ‘know’ is this right word. Perhaps it’s less about knowing and more about trusting? 

He realizes with a jolt that Jeongguk doesn’t know he’s a whore, that the slavers took him and sold his body off to the highest bidder. He hasn’t been ashamed of his occupation for a long time, but suddenly he cannot bear the thought of telling Jeongguk that he let men use him in the years since they’ve seen each other. It would not only be the loss of respect, but the admittance to someone from his past - it would break his heart. It would break the last shreds or armor he has built around himself.

Unbidden, he slips into character. Jimin pulls him arm free from Jeongguk’s grasp, smiling politely at everyone.

“I’ll go get my things, then we can head out. I still need to give Hoseok his cut from last night.” Namjoon nods, familiar with the process himself, but Jeongguk narrows his eyes, a question on his lips. Jimin scurries off before he can voice the questions. He shuts the door of his room behind him

He doesn’t want to talk to Jeongguk about his past, about the gaps in time. He wants the last two years to be forfeit, forgotten. He wants to be able to get to know Jeongguk without this looming over his head. He takes a deep breath. Having Jeongguk here is making his heart hurt all over again. It’s like everything is screaming at him to remember his past, but he can’t. He won’t. Shu Han is across the sea, and Jeongguk is an adult now. Whatever was then is not now. He needs control over himself. He cannot tell Jeongguk what he does for Yoongi. If he figures it out on his own, it wouldn’t be as horrible as having to tell it to his face.

Jimin forces his feet to move, mechanical movement. He pulls a light jacket over his shoulders, marveling at the quality of it. The clothes Taehyung gifted him are well-made. He flips through the stack of kruge he stuffed into the bedside drawer. The money feels dirty in his hands, the product of last night and the still-healing scabs on his cheekbone. 

He isn’t sure how much Hoseok wants for his cut; it was never specified to him. He pockets the entire wad of kruge. At the Menagerie, he only kept 30% of his earnings, before all the cuts Tante Heleen would make in the name of “room and board”. She had told this was expected, cheap even, for a low-ranking worker like himself. He’ll ask Hoseok when he gets downstairs.

He jogs down the steps, entering a significantly emptier common room. Namjoon and Jin are nowhere in sight, most likely gone to complete their daily tasks for Yoongi, whatever that entails. He spots Hoseok chatting with a couple Storks and Jeongguk in the far corner talking rapidly to Taehyung. He approaches the records keeper who grins at him in greeting, the other Storks taking their leave. Jimin offers a handful of kruge.

“I wasn’t sure how much I owe. Here’s seventy percent if that’s enough…” Hoseok’s brow furrows at the large amount of bills offered to him. Jimin hesitates, wondering if he’s done something wrong. Maybe Yoongi takes more from his working girls and boys? He rushes to correct his error. “Or do you need all of it? I don’t know how much he expects, seventy percent was what they wanted at the Menagerie-” Hoseok holds up his hand to stop Jimin’s rambling.

“No, Jimin, I don’t want seventy percent, Saints. We usually expect around fifty to sixty percent from our regular workers, but for you? Yoongi said he only wanted forty-five, since you paid him back in information.” Jimin freezes where he stands. Only forty-five percent. Hoseok takes the money from Jimin’s stiff hands, counting out his cut and returning a significantly large stack to the surprised boy before he can utter a word. 

Jimin isn’t sure he could form words. Forty-five percent is more than he could have dreamed. Forty-five percents means he has a legitimate chance of paying off his debt in a reasonable amount of time. He could get a real job. He could go home. Under the thumb of Heleen, freedom was a pipe dream, something created to be impossible to escape. But now...

The kruge in Hoseok’s fist seems shockingly small. Jimin still has a decent amount of money left in his hands. Hoseok pats his wrist and pockets the few bills. He grins,

“Have fun with Jeonggukie and Taehyung-ah today! Don’t attract too much trouble, or Jeonggukie will have to cut someone’s ear off again!” Jimin shivers as Hoseok skips off. He isn’t sure if the older Stork is joking or not, and he isn’t sure if he wants to find out. Gang life obviously requires a tax from its members. Perhaps he isn’t the only one with something to hide from his past? 

Money tucked away into a small satchel, Jimin walks to where Taehyung and Jeongguk are waiting. Taehyung spots him quickly, and beams.

“Got what you need?” Jimin nods. “Okay! Let’s hit the streets! Where do you want to go first?” Jimin really isn’t familiar with the streets, and what the city has to offer. He knows Ketterdam is a central port in the world’s economy, with offerings from any land and any nation. With sudden freedom and the currency to buy essentially anything he can find and afford, he’s overwhelmed with his choices. Taehyung must see this and saves Jimin from his discomfort. He turns to Jeongguk,

“How about Jeongguk leads us around today? You probably know the city better than either of us.” Jeongguk shrugs, not having picked up on Jimin’s agitation. 

“Sure, hyung. I can take you to the port market, I’m sure they’ll have something shiny that’ll catch your eye.” 

Jimin is right. Being outside with so many choices is overwhelming. The market is loud and filled with unfamiliar voices speaking far too fast for him to understand. The crowds themselves are as bad as the humidity, if not worse, pressing in at every side. Kerch is known for its cold winters, but summer in the city can be brutal. Jeongguk and Taehyung push resolutely through the throngs of people, with the Grisha boy chattering nonstop about the market and the city. 

Jimin follows as the back of Jeongguk’s head bobs and weaves through the streets, trying not to lose sight of his companions. He wonders if the back of someone’s head can change. The slight wave in Jeongguk’s hair is the same. He wonders what else is the same. Jimin tucks his hands into his pockets, turning to Taehyung.

“What are you planning on buying?” Taehyung shrugs, striding along.

“Not sure yet. I do need some cosmetic powder stuff for my Tailor work,” he wiggles his fingers in emphasis, “and usually I see if anything catches my eye. I don’t go out too often, so this is rare for me too.” Jimin peers curiously at the younger boy.

“Does Yoongi-hyung not let you out of The Tiger’s Eye?” Taehyung blinks, then laughs.

“No, not exactly. I’m safer inside, out of sight. I joined the Storks because it wasn’t safe or me on the streets, as a Grisha heartrender. Yoongi doesn’t keep me locked up, but he doesn’t like me going out without a chaperone.” Taehyung jabs his thumb in Jeongguk’s direction. “Luckily, our resident newbie is on Tae-watching duty most days, and he lets me do whatever I want.” Jeongguk looks over his shoulder and scoffs.

“Like someone could stop you from doing something you had your mind set on.” He makes eye contact with Jimin. “Don’t let him fool you, Taehyung’s vicious when it comes to fighting. He could take me down in a heartbeat, no pun intended. And his puppy eyes? Killer.” Jimin stifles a chuckle. Taehyung narrows his eyes theatrically at Jeongguk.

“Don’t make me use my mystical and ancient corporalki powers on you.” Jeongguk laughs, and the group forages on. They come to a shop that sells the type of cosmetic powders Taehyung wants. Jeongguk volunteers to wait outside while Taehyung practically drags Jimin inside.

The store is dim, with skinny shelves reaching up towards the ceiling and packed top to bottom with hundreds of miscellaneous jars, products, and parcels. Taehyung seems to know his way around, stepping confidently around the cluttered store. Jimin follows a pace behind the Grisha, trying not o knock any of the more precarious jars off the shelf. Taehyung hums to himself as he picks his way down the aisle, occasionally stopping to run his finger over a label, or shake the contents of a packet. Jimin has no idea of what half these products do, but he dutifully keeps up with his friend. He wonders what Jeongguk is thinking, standing outside the shop. For a moment, he regrets not waiting with him, but instantly disregards the thought. The tension alone would have been awful.

Taehyung makes a happy exclamation, plucking a vial of brown-gold powder from an upper shelf. Taehyung turns and explains, 

“This is used for eye tints, which is a really common request. A lot of girls want to change their brown eyes into something else. I usually tell them I can’t but that I can make their brown eyes prettier. This just enhances the shade, adds some sparkle. But hey act like a whole other person afterwards. I don’t change anything about someone if it’s to make someone else happy. The change has gotta be for them, y’know?” 

Jimin’s never known someone from the criminal underground with Taehyung's level of morality. Changing one’s eye color is no sweat off Taehyung’s back, and he’d be paid regardless. But to refuse on the grounds that it wasn’t true to that person’s identity? Jimin’s respect for the Grisha boy increases immeasurably. In a world of greed and manipulation, Taehyung has a good soul.

They continue to peruse the claustrophobic shop, Taehyung nodding to the wrinkled man in a slouching hat behind the counter when they pass him by. Taehyung also picks up a parchment packet full of rattling objects, a small pot of pungent gray gelatin, and several other tinctures. 

Taehyung speaks Ravkan with the man at the front counter, a language Jimin is not very familiar with. A a child, he had heard a few words, but never enough to even introduce himself, much less hold a conversation. At least it’s not Fierdan, a language completely alien to Jimin and something he doubts even Taehyung would know.

After exchanging kruge and a few sharp words in Ravkan, Taehyung bows and gathers his purchases. He smiles at Jimin, “Let’s go see if Jeonggukie has managed to wander off without us!”

In the equally crowded street outside the store, Jeongguk is standing patiently. He gives off a relaxed air, though Jimin can see his eyes flick from passerby to passerby, analyzing the lumps in their pockets for possible weapons. When he notices Taehyung and Jimin, he smiles carefully. 

“Get everything you need? Good. There’s this vendor down the street who sells the best stroopwafels, we’ve got to try some.” Jimin has never had a stroopwafel, but from Taehyung’s indecent moaning at the suggestion, it can’t be anything too bad. 

The boys make their way down the streets, dodging horse-drawn wagons and runners from the Exchange carrying important messages. They recieve a few odd looks; even in a city based on trade, Shu faces are uncommon enough to warrant attention. Jimin wants to shy away from it, but Taehyung and Jeongguk don’t seem to notice, or if they do they pay it no mind. The humidity of the summer presses down upon the city. It never gets truly hot in Ketterdam, but it seems to be perpetually damp no matter the season. 

Jimin feels sweat bead on his forehead and lower back. He blinks a drop out of his eye, and stumbles, shoe catching on an uneven edge of cobblestone. He bumps bodily into a tall man before regaining his footing. Jimin begins to apologize, but the man growls at him in angry Kerch before he can get a word out.

“Shu dog! Watch where you step!” Jimin raises his hands placatingly, trying again to apologize and continue walking but the man isn’t finished. He grabs Jimin by his shirt collar and slams him none too gently against the wall. The man sneers, 

“Learn to respect your superiors, bitch.” The man’s hands are nowhere near his throat but Jimin’s can’t breath, can’t move-

“Hey!” A familiar voice, then a hand on the man’s shoulder, wrenching him backwards. Jimin slumps off the wall, gasping and watching as Jeongguk swiftly pushes the man into a nearby gap between buildings. Taehyung rushes over to Jimin, eyes sad.

“Are you alright?” Jimin nods, not trusting his voice. Taehyung signs, looking resigned. He offers his hand, which Jimin takes. “There are a lot of good people out there. But many more who are prejudiced. Don’t listen to him, you did nothing wrong.” There’s a brief cry from the alleyway where Jeongguk had disappeared into. Taehyung and Jimin share a glance before hurrying to the alley.

Jeongguk has the man up against the side of the brick building, a pistol pressed into the man’s side. The man’s eyes are bulging, a sickly yellow shade, and Jeongguk has a hand clasped over his mouth. The Shu man nudges the pistol against the man’s ribs, and he whimpers. 

“You. Don’t. Touch. Him.” Jeongguk snarls in Kerch, looking more angry than Jimin has ever seen him. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size? Or better yet, crawl back to your slimey life as a rich mercher and avoid picking fights with innocent people?” The man’s gaze dart from Jimin to the pistol. His eyes are afraid, but they burn with indignity and rage. Jeongguk jabs the pistol deeper, and the man yelps. 

Jimin doesn’t recognize this Jeongguk, with his lip curled and violence shading his features. This is Jeon after Ketterdam had gotten to him, taken his youth and put in the malevolence in its place. ‘This is what Min Yoongi leaves in his wake,’ Jimin thinks, ‘broken boys and cruelty.”

The man struggles again, and Jeongguk takes his hand off the man’s mouth to slap him, hard. Jimin starts forward, but Taehyung lays a hand on his shoulder to keep him back. He isn’t sure what he would have done anyways, but he knows this scene can’t be kept up for much longer. Someone is going to bleed. He steps towards Jeongguk, ignoring Taehyung’s warning. He doesn’t touch Jeongguk, but calls out in Shu,

“Jeonggukie, stop.” Jeongguk doesn’t let go of the man. “Jeongguk, the price has been paid. Humiliation for humiliation. He owes no more debt.” Slowly, without responding verbally, Jeongguk lets go of the man, but does not holster his gun. The man dusts himself off, glaring daggers at the three. He has a stark red handprint on his face, visible even in the dim lighting of the alleyway. Jimin thinks for a second he will retaliate, but all he does is spit on the ground. Jeongguk narrows his eyes. 

Before the man can take another step, Taehyung discreetly snaps and the man trips over himself as he tries to exit the alley. The man scurries away as fast as he can, suddenly clumsy as can be. Jimin turns to Taehyung,

“What did you do?” Taehyung waggles his hands theatrically.

“Nothing serious, just gave him a very bad case of sleepy feet. He’ll be feeling pins and needles for at least the next hour.” Jimin can’t help but smile. Jeongguk holsters his gun, expression clouded. Taehyung pats him on the arm.

“Let’s head home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kookie and Jimin have a lot to work out. The last two years have been...a lot for them. 
> 
> I don't know if anyone picked this up, but the dialogue is written intentionally. Yoongi, Jimin, Jeongguk, Seokjin, and Namjoon were born and raised in Shu Han. Hoseok was born to immigrant parents in Ravka, and left to travel the world, ending up in Ketterdam. Taehyung’s parents were merchants, and he grew up basically everywhere. He settled in Ketterdam because it wasn’t safe for him anywhere else. Therefore, the first five speak formally, with honorifics. Hoseok uses them occasionally, especially to denote familiarity. Taehyung hardly ever speaks with honorifics, and Yoongi has given up trying to pry that sign of respect out of him. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate every single one of you!
> 
> Comments/kudos are my lifeblood!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimin wonders if the man sitting in front of him has any sort of self-preservation, or if that too was taken out with the rest of the gutter trash. 
> 
> He used to see himself as a lost hat afloat on the harbor: something lost, something pretty to look at and at the mercy of the weather and tides, destined to sink. He’s tired of being lost at sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey. I'm back, after TWO MONTHS :((  
> I'm sorry for the brief hiatus, hopefully I'll keep to more regular updates going forward. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your continued patience. I hope you enjoy this chapter! 
> 
> Happy Reading!

Jimin’s feet slip on the floor, his toes fighting to grip the tile flooring. Jin twirls his knife, looking amused with his efforts.

“Keep your weight lower to the ground. Balance between your knees. Better. The stronger your center, the harder it is to knock you off balance.” Jimin tries to follow exactly as Jin says, not wanting to end up on the end of that wicked looking knife. 

When Jin had offered him self-defense lessons, Jimin hadn’t been able to identify his motive. When he had arrived back at The Tiger’s Eye with Taehyung and Jeongguk, Jin had immediately pulled him away from the others and down the hall. Standing in a small room across from the other man, Jimin still isn’t sure what Jin’s ulterior motives are. He doesn’t seem like the type of man to do anything out of the goodness of his own heart. 

Once he has the correct stance, Jin teaches him how to throw and block a punch to the stomach and face. He doesn’t hold back, and Jimin can feel the bruises forming where he didn’t move fast enough. He’s going to be stiff tonight, but somehow he relishes the ache. It’s better than the soreness that comes from having a client. It’s the good kind of ache, one that proves worth and effort. 

Once he’s mastered the punch, Jin moves on to how to break a chokehold. He doesn’t actually choke Jimin, but comes close enough to the younger man’s neck that fear prickles the back of Jimin’s head. Even though he’s no longer twirling his signature dagger, Jin still poses an intimidating figure, and a strict teacher. He doesn’t tolerate laziness, and he expects much from his students. Jimin finds himself liking the older man more and more. This kind of discipline is often lacking in the Barrel.

The lesson ends after a few hours, when Jimin has accumulated a small army of bruises and and both men are sweating. Even Jin’s rigid composure must be slipping, because he smiles at Jimin as they exit the small room.

“You’re a fast learner. You’ll be brawling with the best of them if you keep practicing.” This is high praise from the gang’s second-in-command, and Jimin dips his head in respect.

“Thank you for practicing with me, Jin-hyung. I very much appreciate you taking the time to teach me.” Jin starts to say something, but suddenly turns about 45 degrees to Jimin’s right and flicks his wrist in a strange, rapid movement. Jimin hears the thud of a knife embedding itself into the hall wall and freezes in place, without looking to see Jin’s target. All at once, he's on high alert, looking for ways to defend himself.

“That’s not very polite of you, throwing knives at upstanding citizens.” Yoongi’s voice echos slightly down the dim hall. Jin narrows his eyes.

“It’s not very polite of you to sneak up on your own assassin.” Jimin shifts to see Yoongi standing with his arms crossed down the hall. A knife is sticking out of the wall a foot from his head. “And I’m not sure a single person in Ketterdam would call you an upstanding citizen.” 

Yoongi’s lips quirk upwards into a self-satisfied smirk. He uncrosses his arms, gesturing with his head. 

“Maybe that’s why I need the help of our resident secret keeper. Jimin, would you step out with me for a moment?” Jimin looks between Jin and Yoongi. Jin is ignoring the two, studying his knuckles with feigned interest. Out of the two of them, he’s not sure who’s more likely to turn him into their own personal pincushion. 

He dips his head one last time to Jin, who conceals a smile smoothly, and walks towards Yoongi with some hesitance. Yoongi appraises him with a careful gaze, his eyes catching on the bruise forming on Jimin’s forearm from a particularly hard block. He raises a brow in Jin’s direction. 

“Don’t ruin my things, Jin. I need him in one piece and preferably not black and blue.” Jin doesn’t deign to answer, and Yoongi snorts a brief laugh. He pulls the knife out of the wall and tosses it gracefully back to the older. Jin catches it and strides past them, giving the pair the side eye. He flounces down the hall, and Yoongi heaves a sigh. 

“Now that we aren’t at risk of developing puncture wounds, we can talk.” Yoongi takes Jimin to the same office as Jimin’s first night. Jimin takes this second chance to have a better look around. The rest of the office is much more interesting than the floorboards. The far wall holds a desk in the right corner, above which hangs a silk cloth emblazoned with the Stork’s symbol. 

Yoongi crosses to the desk and pulls out a flask, the contents of which he pours into two glasses. Jimin takes a careful seat on the edge of one of the low couches, hands folded tightly.

Yoongi offers him one of the glasses of clear liquid, and Jimin takes it with both hands. It doesn’t burn going down his throat, but Jimin knows the bitter alcohol will sit heavy in his stomach. He wraps his wits about him. The company of Min Yoongi is not company one wants to be inebriated in. 

Yoongi downs his glass smoothly, wiping his mouth off-handedly. He grimaces at Jimin,

“I know you’re supposed to enjoy soju with a meal, but sometimes life calls for a little extra backup.” Jimin eyes the bottle Yoongi set on the nearby coffee table. Tradition dictates that he refills Yoongi’s glass as soon as it empties, but he doesn’t want to initiate any more drinking. The mere presence of soju has his apprehensive. 

Yoongi must sense his attention on the bottle, and takes it upon himself to pour himself another shot. He empties it just as quickly.

“We don’t really follow tradition here. A little bit of this, a little of that, Shu and Kerch all wrapped together in a big, ugly knot,” he comments. Jimin smiles a little at that, and pours himself another shot. They sit in silence for a few minutes, pouring their own drinks. Jimin wonders what exactly Yoongi hopes to gain from this. He still hasn’t asked Jimin whatever he needs to.

Finally, when Yoongi decides the quiet camaraderie has gone on long enough, he sets down his glass and crosses his legs. 

“I learned a long time ago never to discuss the good news sober.” Jimin receives this as a good sign. If it’s good news Yoongi wants to discuss, chances are it’s better for him as well. Yoongi leans back in his seat on the couches arm rest. “I’m certain you’re curious about the information you got me last night.” Jimin nods. He’d be lying if he said the question hadn’t been chewing at him all day. Yoongi smiles to himself, studying his reflection in the shot glass.

“It was an invitation.” An invitation? An invitation to what, and from whom? Would an invitation even hold the life-destroying information rumored the man held? Yoongi chuckles, “I guess I should be comforted knowing you’re so open in my presence. The questions are all over your face, Jimin-ah.” 

Jimin immediately schools his features into the neutral expression he wears while working. Damn him if he thinks he can let his guard down around Min Yoongi. Jimin thinks of bloodstains on rags, how Hoseok said Yoongi had cut a man’s face for him. He tries to wipe his mind as clear as his expression. Yoongi had met him as an equal, and this is no discussion about debt. 

Yoongi doesn’t comment on his sudden change in expression. He pulls the envelope out of his jacket pocket, the wax seal broken. “This is an invitation for Lee Hwitaek’s annual summer solstice. Of course, he’s an ally and isn’t our target. But guess who will very conveniently be in attendance?” Yoongi holds the envelope up between two fingers. “One Nils Edström, one of the richest stock brokers in Ketterdam. If you hold his favor, you hold the entire market in the palm of your hands. His word is the word of god.” Yoongi leans forward.

“Jimin, would you like to help rewrite the gospel?” Jimin wonders if the man sitting in front of him has any sort of self-preservation, or if that too was taken out with the rest of the gutter trash. This sounds like the sort of plot that gets men killed. Jimin thinks back to Jin’s confidence in the aim of his dagger, and Yoongi’s blind trust that his assassin wouldn’t hurt him. 

Jimin used to see himself as a lost hat afloat on the harbor: something lost, something pretty to look at and at the mercy of the weather and tides, destined to sink. He’s tired of being lost at sea. Jimin thinks how it wouldn’t be too terrible to be the dagger for once, handled with care and precision. He looks Yoongi in the eye.

“Yes, I would.” Yoongi evaluates him deliberately.

“You sure you want to fall down this path? Until now, you’ve been a bystander. This would make you a pawn in the chessboard of the Barrel.” Jimin stares him down, trying to hide the hitch in his breathing. 

“I am. And I’m no pawn,” he says. Fluidly, he pulls one of Jin’s knives from a fold in his shirt, holding it loosely pointed towards Yoongi. “I’m much more of a bishop. I move where you can’t.” 

Yoongi’s narrowed eyes are reflected in the razor sharp blade. Jimin had taken it when Jin had been distracted by Yoongi, a simple slip from the man’s belt. He had felt more comfortable walking into an unknown situation armed. Of course, chances are he’d be dead before he even managed to land a blow on the gang leader, but it had helped him make it this far. 

Yoongi smiles, and this time, it’s the most genuine expression Jimin has seen the older man use. He leans back in his seat, relaxing for the first time since entering the room. 

“Good to know my pawn is familiar with the rules of chess.” Jimin opens his mouth, soju courage causing rash reactions, but Yoongi beats him to his objections. “Complete this job, and we’ll see if you’re bishop worthy.” Jimin looks at his lap, chastised. He lays the dagger in his lap. 

“Here’s what will happen…”

By the time Jimin leaves Yoongi’s office, it’s time for the evening meal. His head buzzing with words, he makes his way into the main hall, where the rest of the Storks have gathered. Thankfully, he doesn’t see Jeongguk anywhere. He doesn’t think he could handle seeing the other boy after all that’s happened today. He’s too mentally drained to navigate that conversation. 

He dips his head to the gang member handing out bowls, and finds a seat in a far corner. It’s his first quiet meal in what feels like a long time. Is it really just his second day as a Stork? Jimin hunches over his bowl and tries to ignore the noise of the room.

Unfortunately, things don’t remain peaceful for long. 

“Jimin!” Taehyung’s call jolts Jimin out of his thoughts, and he looks up sharply. The Grisha boy grins at him, making a beeline for his table with Hoseok trailing behind. 

“Hey Taehyung-ah, Hoseok-hyung,” Jimin nods politely at the pair. Taehyung sets his bowl down with a thump, a few stray vegetables spilling over the side. Hoseok sits with considerably more grace, his food at least remaining contained.

“Jin dragged you off as soon as we got back, then he said Yoongi came and got you. What’s going on? More secret missions?” Taehyung questions. Jimin smiles at him slyly.

“Tae, even if it was a secret mission, I couldn’t tell you anyway. Top secret, remember?” Taehyung pouts, and Hoseok ruffles his hair. Jimin continues, “Jin-hyung is giving me self-defense lessons in case another client attacks me, and Yoongi-hyung needs me for a job.” 

Taehyung raises an eyebrow incredulously. 

“You got Seokjin the ice queen to give you self-defense lessons? What’d you promise him, all the money you ever make?” Jimin shakes his head.

“No, in fact, he offered,” he explains. Now even Hoseok looks skeptical. 

“My first day, Jin-hyung pinned me to a wall and told me if I tried skimming kruge from the gambling hall, he’d make me eat my own liver. What in Ghezen’s name did you drug him with?” Jimin laughs, a real laugh, at Hoseok’s confusion. 

“I have no idea. He just waltzed into my room this morning, offered to teach me how to protect myself, and commanded me to accompany him to breakfast.” Hoseok sits back in his chair, rubbing his chin.

“Huh,” he remarks. “Maybe I should take him to breakfast more often.” Taehyung rolls his eyes. 

“Anyways, that’s super cool. Jin’s one of our best fighters, and he’s really good at sneaking into places. He’s like Yoongi’s right hand man!” Taehyung’s enthusiasm causes his elbow to knock into his bowl, more food spilling out. Oblivious, he continues speaking while Hoseok heaves an indulgent sigh and moves Taehyung’s bowl.

“So Yoongi’s the head of the gang, right? And then there’s Jin, who everyone’s afraid of, but we’re all really glad he’s on our side. He’d hurt anyone who tried to hurt us, and boy that helps me sleep at night. Then there’s Hobi here, who keeps all our records and manages the books for the gang’s gambling hall, The High Roost. And you, me, Jeongguk, and Namjoon are regular gang members, I guess. Well, you and Namjoon have a little bit of a different role, but you’re still Storks.” 

Taehyung reaches blindly for his bowl, continuing to talk to Jimin eagerly. Hoseok sighs again and scoots it closer to his groping hand. Taehyung grasps it and begins to eat quickly, but surprisingly neatly. Hoseok draws his own bowl closer, leaning towards Jimin.

“Using his grisha powers makes him extra hungry. You might want to finish your dinner before Tae does for you,” he whispers conspiratorial, a glimmer of humor in his eyes. Jimin heeds Hoseok’s advice and tucks in.

After the early dinner, Hoseok pulls Jimin aside to a darker corner of the main hall, away from prying eyes and the endless chatter. 

“You have another client tonight, if you want to take him. I’ll understand if you don’t want to, so soon after last night’s events.” Hoseok’s gaze strays to the small bandage on Jimin’s forehead. “You wouldn’t have to do anything wild. Rumor has it that a certain Barrel boss will come by this area, and you’d need to keep him distracted for a while.” 

“I’ll take it,” Jimin affirms. Hoseok blinks at his certainty. 

“Are you sure? I could have Namjoon or someone else take him.” 

“I’m sure,” Jimin smiles grimly. “I’ve gotten awfully good at distracting.” 

 

\-----

 

It’s completely dark outside when Jimin leaves his room. His hair is still damp from the wash bin, where he’d washed up after the client. The man had been nothing out of the normal, another greasy face looking for escape. Jimin had kept him occupied for as long as possible, before the man insisted he had to leave.

The hall is dim and quiet, and Jimin is almost certain everyone’s either asleep or out at the gambling hall. He would go back to his room, but he’s restless. The amount of cash the man paid him safely stored in the bedside table, Jimin takes a seat on one of the low couches in the hall. 

Sometimes, it’s nice to soak in the sounds of the night, as faint as they might be. Distantly, Jimin can hear the sounds of the street, of voices coming from the thin walls. It used to unsettle him, the constant cacophony of city life after a life in the country. Now, it’s reassuring that life continues to flow around him. 

It’s a comfort, almost, to hear the sound of fellow Storks going about their lives. Somehow, it’s a reminder of people on his side. He’s no longer alone. 

Nearby, a door creaks open. Jimin shifts in his seat to see who is awake at this late hour. Namjoon closes the door behind him softly, nodding sleepily at Jimin. He wanders over and slumps down next to the younger man. Jimin murmurs a greeting. 

Namjoon’s hair is mussed, and sweat shines on his brow. His face is flushed, and Jimin realizes with a start that he’s just finished with a client as well. Namjoon leans back against the low couch, and Jimin stares at the line of his throat. Namjoon turns to Jimin, groaning.

“Ah, I’m so sore. She was a rough one, very bitey.” Namjoon gestures to a rather dark mark on his neck. Jimin blinks in surprise. 

“You take female clients as well?” Namjoon smiles a secret sort of grin. 

“I take anybody, no matter what they want to call themselves. It’s why I get requested so often: I don’t discriminate between...body and spirit.” Namjoon gestures vaguely as he speaks. 

Being honest, Jimin doesn’t understand Namjoon sometimes. But he can respect the man’s openness to diversity. He can’t say whether he takes the same approach, but maybe he can talk to the older prostitute at a later time. Jimin asks, 

“You’ve lived in Ketterdam for a while, right?” His eyes closed, Namjoon hums an agreement. “And you speak Kerch very well.” Namjoon cracks an eye to look at Jimin.

“What about it?” 

“Yoongi’s having me fool a high-ranking barrel boss. I need to distract him long enough for the Storks to create some chaos. Could you teach me the finer points of conversational Kerch?” Namjoon sits forward, looking pensive.

“Yoongi’s sending you into the middle of the whole mess he’s planning?” Namjoon must be close enough to Yoongi to know what’s going on. Jimin shrugs. “He must really trust you. He never assigns a role in a major heist to someone other than himself or maybe Jin unless absolutely necessary. He doesn’t trust anyone else to do it properly.” 

The task ahead of him suddenly feels are all the more perilous. Namjoon sits back, studying Jimin with appraising eyes. 

“I’ll help you learn to speak Kerch better. And in return, you need to talk to Jeongguk.” Jimin starts to protest, but Namjoon cuts him off. “You’ve been avoiding him, and he’s hurting. You’re a part of his past, whether you like it or not.” Jimin crosses his arms self-consciously. 

“What do you know about his past?” Jimin knows he sounds defensive, but he’s tired and this is a sensitive subject for him. Namjoon tilts his head.

“Enough. I know you two shared some firsts. From the way he talked about you, it sounds like you got each other through a difficult time together as children. That’s not nothing.” 

Jimin looks away, thinking on Namjoon’s words. Jeongguk had spoken about him? There are so many things they should talk about, Jimin knows. It’s just...difficult. Namjoon looks at Jimin directly. 

“He’d never say it, but you mean a lot to him.” Namjoon remarks quietly. “Look, I get why you don’t want to talk to him, but please. He’s stomping around like a petulant child, and it's getting old.” Namjoon’s eyes glint.

“Or Jin could try and talk some sense into you, and I promise, he won’t be so, ah, encouraging. He sees Jeongguk as his...charge, and is quite protective of him.” Jimin most certainly does not want to invoke the ire of the elder, and resolves to talk to Jeongguk as soon as possible. 

These new friends, dare he call them such, are an interesting lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help the reference to one of my other biases, hopefully he'll make an appearance soon! Anyone catch it? 
> 
> Thank you so, so, so much for reading! 
> 
> Comments/kudos are very much appreciated!
> 
> Find me on Twitter and yell at me to update sooner at https://twitter.com/sunstarsseokjin


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course, it happens at the most inconvenient time possible. 
> 
> Jeongguk’s rooted to the spot. Taehyung’s eyes bounce back and forth between Jeongguk and Jimin, jam smeared over the corner of his mouth. Jimin can feel a dozen stares on him, especially Yoongi’s. He wants to curl up into a ball and fall into a deep, dark pit.
> 
> ‘What in Saint’s name have I gotten into?’ Jimin thinks tiredly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gasp* Two updates?? In one week? Well butter my biscuit and call me Sally, maybe Waxy can be productive after all!
> 
> This chapter turned out waay darker than I planned on it being, but it was fun to write. Please be aware of violent themes and some harsh language inherent to the Six of Crows universe. Be safe. 
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this! it turned out much longer than expected as well, and I'm proud of it. 
> 
> Happy Reading!

Of course, it happens at the most inconvenient time possible. 

The entire hall is staring at him, jam and honey spilled down his front. In one hand, he holds a stack of kruge, in the other a leather-bound book held high out of harm’s way. 

Jeongguk’s rooted to the spot. Taehyung’s eyes bounce back and forth between Jeongguk and Jimin, jam smeared over the corner of his mouth. 

Jimin can feel a dozen stares on him, especially Yoongi’s. He wants to curl up into a ball and fall into a deep, dark pit.

‘What in Saint’s name have I gotten into?’ Jimin thinks tiredly.

 

30 minutes earlier -

 

Jimin wakes up to the sound of people calling in the street, the noise of a city waking up. No songbirds fly this deep into Ketterdam. He stretches, rolling the sleep out of his shoulders. He had stayed up talking to Namjoon for a little while, before finally retiring to bed. He has a full day ahead of him; Kerch lessons with Namjoon, sparring with Jin if the older man is available, and preparing for other clients. First things first, he needs to deliver Hoseok his cut from last night’s business.

He dresses quickly, in a linen shirt and one of Namjoon’s pretty floral wraps. He washes his face briefly, catching a glimpse of his face in the mirror. He smiles tentatively at himself, a hesitant acknowledgement of his own features. He looks...happy. Even with everything that has happened, even with his indenture, the shame, the risks, he looks better than he has in weeks, if not months. 

‘Maybe all this Shu I’ve been speaking has done me good,’ Jimin jokes to himself, smoothing a hand over his hair. Gathering up Hoseok’s forty-five percent, he makes his way to the main hall, which is in the middle of the morning rush.

On his way down the stairs, Namjoon catches his elbow, heading in the opposite direction.

“Hey, you asked about learning Kerch, here’s a book that might help with the harder words. I’ll help you with it later.” Namjoon says as he hands Jimin a medium-sized book. Jimin takes the book gratefully, tucking it under the arm not holding the kruge. He bows briefly to the older prostitute.

“Thank you, hyung. I’ll be sure to read it when I have the time.” Namjoon wishes him a good day and Jimin jogs the rest of the way into the common room. His floral robe catches the eye of a few Storks, but their gazes never lingers long. Jimin wonders if Yoongi had declared him off-limits, untouchable. 

He crosses the room to Taehyung’s table. Hoseok is nowhere in sight, but Taehyung seems to have replaced his partner with a rather messy looking pastry. It practically drips lingonberry jam and honey. In all honesty, it looks too sweet for Jimin’s tastes, but Taehyung appears to be enjoying himself immensely. He grins brightly in greeting, a smudge of lingonberry on his cheek that he does not seem to be aware of.

“Morning Jiminie! Want a wienerbrød? Jin went out this morning and came back with a whole box!” Taehyung swallows, then gestures to the seat next to him. “Take a seat, have some breakfast.” Jimin laughs at his friend’s expression.

“Maybe later, Tae. I’m looking for Hoseok, have you seen him recently?” Taehyung shakes his head, already taking another bite of his pastry. 

“I haven’t seen him since he left for a shift last night, should be back soon.” The Grisha says around another mouthful. Jimin stifles a smile and takes another look around the room, searching for Hoseok’s familiar face. It’s easy to spot the distinct scar down his cheek, though Jimin’s long grown used to seeing it. 

Instead of the record keeper’s sunny face, he catches Jeongguk’s eye across the room. Jeongguk immediately straightens, heading towards Jimin. He looks like he has a million questions on his tongue, and Jimin dreads most of them. He doesn’t want to talk to Jeongguk right now, even though he promised Namjoon he would. 

Jimin considers running away and disappearing upstairs, but he stops himself before he can do anything. Jeongguk’s sliding up to the table in a second, ignoring Taehyung’s muffled greeting. He focuses on Jimin, a cautious smile on his face.

“Good morning Jimin-hyung. So, uh, what’s all the kruge for?” Jimin looks down at the wad of bills he still holds, panic flowing through his veins. He really didn’t want to tell Jeongguk he was a whore in the middle of the main hall, much less first thing in the morning. 

But it seemed luck was not in his favor. Jimin steels himself for the oncoming exchange, clutching the kruge and Namjoon’s book tightly.

“He needs to give it to Hoseok,” Taehyung helpfully supplies from his seat at the table. Jimin winces, and Jeongguk gives him a curious look.

“Why do you owe Hoseok money?” He asks innocently. The situation is slowly slipping out of his control, and Jimin grips onto any excuse he can think of. As soon as he opens his mouth to explain, a loud laugh interrupts them, cutting across the room. Hoseok and Yoongi enter the hall, Hoseok's arm slung around Yoongi’s shoulders. 

Jimin just wants the money out of his hand, and takes an instinctive step towards Hoseok. Unfortunately, he’s not the most vigilant at the moment, and trips over the table leg. Jeongguk reacts, throwing out an arm to catch Jimin. One of his hand lands on the table, upsetting Taehyung’s plate of wienerbrød and sending the remaining pasties towards Jimin. 

The pastry falls to the floor from Jimin’s shirt with a wet splat, leaving behind a sticky blotch the color spilt wine. 

The room is stock-still. 

The book and kruge have escaped any damage from the spill. Jam stains Jimin’s shirt and the borrowed robe, but Jimin isn’t thinking about apologizing to Namjoon. He’s thinking about Jeongguk’s distressed expression, an apology already forming on his lips. Jimin can practically feel Yoongi’s stare from across the room, the calculating look he knows is fixed upon him.

Taehyung is the first one to move, standing hurriedly and passing a cloth to Jimin. Jimin sighs and wipes half-heartedly at the jam. Jeongguk opens his mouth to apologize, but Jimin cuts him off with a glare. He really doesn’t want to speak to Jeongguk at this point.

He tosses the cloth onto the table, giving up on getting the jam off without water and elbow grease. With all the room’s eyes still on him, he gathers as much dignity he can muster and walks neatly towards the exit.

He shoves the kruge at Hoseok as he passes. The records keeper takes the money without complaint, allowing Jimin to brush past him without comment. Jimin’s cheeks burn as he climbs the stairs, determinedly not looking back.

He’s mortified. He’s never going downstairs again. Taehyung will have to bring him meals, because he’s never leaving his room. Yoongi will just have to send his clients up to him.

Jimin makes sure to lock the door behind him, stripping off his dirty clothes and draping them over a chair to be washed later. Maybe the fifty-five percent he didn’t give to Hoseok could be spent on a new robe for Namjoon. Jimin feels bad about getting the other man’s clothes messy, but he’s more embarrassed the whole gang saw him covered in Taehyung’s breakfast. 

He supposes it doesn’t matter what the gang thinks of him. After all, he’s just another pretty boy, right? Jimin remembers Yoongi’s laugh, the way his shoulders tilted under the sling of Hoseok’s arm, his eyes on the back of Jimin’s neck as he had beat a hasty retreat.

Jimin shivers, abruptly shaking himself out of his thoughts and pulling on another shirt. Maybe he could convince Jin to hold self-defense lessons in his room, though the bed is taking up too much space…

A knock on the door has Jimin on high alert again, shoulders tense. He doubts he’s in any danger, besides another blow to his self-esteem, but his hand still hesitates on the door knob. Unless it’s Taehyung with a plate of food, he’s loathe to let anyone into his room. 

It’s not Taehyung, but it is Namjoon, whose presence in acceptable. Namjoon has concern clear in his features, and Jimin opens the door wider to let him inside. Namjoon crosses over to the stained shirt draped over the chair, holding gently and clucking disappointedly. 

“Aish, Tae has a habit of ruining the shirt of everyone he meets. It means you’ve passed initiation. You should have seen Yoongi-hyung’s face when Taehyung spilled an entire bottle of dye onto him.” Namjoon’s humor puts Jimin at ease, his shoulders relaxing. Namjoon takes a seat on the bed, casual in a stranger’s space. Jimin joins him, one leg folded underneath him carefully. 

“Seriously though, Jimin-ah, it’s not a big deal. You looked pretty embarrassed down there, but no one thinks less of you. I bet the next time you see Jeongguk, he’ll apologize first thing.” 

“I know, it was all an accident, but I couldn’t-” Jimin’s face wrinkles as he looks for the words. Namjoon waits patiently, the picture of peace.

“I’m scared to talk to Jeongguk.” His voice is soft, and Namjoon leans forward slightly to hear him clearly. “I don’t know what he’ll say when he learns I’m just a whore, and then this morning he asked me about the money, and I couldn’t answer, and then Yoongi-” He cuts himself off, not allowing that thought to travel any further. 

“Then Yoongi what?” Namjoon doesn’t seem to want to let it go that easily. Jimin swallows thickly.

“Then Yoongi saw me scared and covered in syrup, and I’m ashamed. I don’t want him to think I’m weak.” Jimin isn’t sure where this sudden confession came from, but it’s out of him now, hanging above the four-poster bed like a canopy of silk curtain. 

Namjoon’s purple hair falls into his face when he nods.

“It’s okay to feel scared,” Namjoon tells him. “Jeongguk is something you’ve just regained, and you’re worried you’re going to lose him all over again. Jeongguk won’t let you go over something like this. He’s been around the streets long enough. You should talk with him, especially after this morning. Questions are better than accusations.” 

Jimin supposes the older man has a point. The sooner he explains himself to Jeongguk, the faster they can move on. Namjoon fiddles with the bedcover.

“And as for Yoongi, I doubt he sees you as weak. If anyone was going to get in trouble from that simple accident, it would be Jeongguk or Taehyung, and Yoongi’s far too fond of those kids to reprimand them for a spill. You’re not weak for having shame, Jimin.” Namjoon stands, moving towards the door. 

“If being ashamed or scared made us weak, all of us would be in a very different place. Strength comes from the promises you make.” 

Hand resting on the door frame, Namjoon turns to look back at Jimin. “I’ll be by in an hour for Kerch lessons.” 

After Namjoon leaves, Jimin barely has a moment to collect his thoughts before another knock echos through the room. He feels ready this time, centering himself and answering the door.

Jeongguk looks to be on the brink of turning tail, uncharacteristically nervous in the doorway. Jimin allows him inside. It looks like he’s got a steady stream of appointments today, much more interesting than his normal clients. 

“I’m sorry,” Jeongguk starts. “I didn’t mean to dump that plate onto you. I’m sorry I made you upset.” Jeongguk hangs his head, and Jimin almost coos at how young he looks in this moment.

“Jeonggukie, I’m not mad about the doughnuts. It was an accident, no harm done.” Jeongguk breathes a tiny sigh of relief, a look of perplexity growing over his face.

“Okay. I just thought, because you left so quickly…” Jeongguk trails off, gesturing with his hands. Jimin knows his time is up. This is where he tells the truth. The Storks have been pulling a lot more honesty from him than he would have liked, he thinks grimly.

“I was upset because I didn’t want you to know what I was doing. I need to tell you about what happened after the slavers came.” Jimin’s voice is softer, and Jeongguk seems to understand the sudden shift in energy. He nods, and Jimin looks down, tongue unwilling to behave. 

“They took me across the sea to Ketterdam, where I was sold into an indenture. My master...was not a kind woman. She kept a roof over my head, and in exchange,” Jimin swallows, “I worked in her brothel.” 

Jeongguk’s eyes are wide, sad, but he doesn’t leap to his feet to proclaim Jimin a sinner or a whore, so he keeps going. 

“I worked there for two years. My contract was written so that I could never pay off the debt, no matter how much I saved. Over the years, I developed a...reputation, for keeping secrets. The clients, they would tell me all sorts of things, but I couldn’t do anything with the information. Then Yoongi bought out my indenture, for my secrets, and brought me to The Tiger’s Eye to become a Stork. He gave me a choice, said I could become a regular member of the gang or become his spy, his confidante.” 

Jimin forces himself to look Jeongguk in the eye. He desperately wants Jeongguk to understand him, understand why he chose the path he did. 

“I knew back then, that I was different. That I wanted something different. It’s who I am. And I know that whatever we had was just two scared kids looking for comfort, but…It made me aware of what I wanted. I was afraid, if I was just a regular Stork, I wouldn’t...I wouldn’t be allowed to find company with other men. So I took the second option. That’s why I paid Hoseok that kruge this morning, from last night’s client. 

“I wasn’t expecting anyone from home to see me, on my knees in this fithy city. But you showed up, and telling you about what I’ve done, what I do, was shameful. You’re my last link to home, and telling you was like admitting the last two years were real. I hid from you because I was ashamed, and I wasn’t sure what you’d think of me.” 

His confession hangs naked in the still air of the room. Jeongguk has on an unreadable expression.

“Jimin-hyung, I would never be ashamed or angry about something you had no control over. You were sold into slavery, it’s not your fault. And you didn’t want to compromise something important to you: that’s admirable, not shameful.” Jeongguk says. Jimin feels his eyes water. He’s been absolved. Shu Han forgives him.

“And, honestly,” Jeongguk bites his lip. “I’ve been wondering how to tell you the same thing. Not the brothel part, the liking-other-men part.” Jeongguk smiles sheepishly. “You were kind of my first love.” 

Jimin almost takes a step backwards in shock. Jeongguk’s first love? He isn’t sure about what he felt back then, but he certainly doesn’t see Jeongguk like a lover now. 

“Do you...do you still see me-?” Jimin begins hesitantly. 

“No, no I don’t love you like that anymore. I thought...There was too much else going on to focus on the past.” Jeongguk laughs humorlessly. “I guess I owe you my story now.”

“After the slavers took me, I was put on a different ship than yours, but I didn’t know that. They had us all blindfolded, and I couldn’t see who were on the ship with me. Just before we got to Ketterdam, our ship got caught in a storm and sank. A lot of us managed to break free and swim to the surface, and we got picked up by a Kerch fishing ship. When I didn’t see you...I thought you were dead, or washed away. The fishermen took us onto the mainland, and set us loose after we testified against the slavers.” Jeongguk shakes his head, lost in memories. 

“I wandered around for a few days. I couldn’t speak Kerch, and I had nothing to try and get back to Shu Han. I heard someone speaking Shu in an alley one day, and ran after them. Little did I know, I was running after a Barrel boss, and Jin-hyung had me pinned against the wall before I knew what was happening. When I told him and Yoongi my story, Yoongi gave me a handful of kruge and told me to leave the city as fast as I could. 

“Instead, I tracked them down to The Tiger’s Eye, and begged for them to let me join the gang. For two weeks, I kept coming back, asking to see Min Yoongi. Hobi-hyung took pity on me and gave me meals. Eventually, Yoongi said he admired my commitment, and that I could become a Stork.” 

Jeongguk runs a hand through his hair self-consciously. Jimin isn’t surprised by his story. It seems everyone who ends up in the lap of the Storks has their own tragedy. He gives Jeongguk time to find the right words.

“Jimin-hyung, I’m not - I’m not a good person. You were forced into this life, but I chose this, because I wanted to do bad things. I used to be so angry. I was angry at the slavers, and angry at Ketterdam, and angry at Yoongi and his Storks. I didn’t know how to control it, and once I was in the gang I would wander and just...find some low-life criminal to beat up, any excuse to punch the guy in the gut. I wanted to burn down the whole city, and I would have burned with it too, if it wasn’t for Jin-hyung.” Jeongguk fiddles with a ring around his right ring finger. 

“He taught me control, how to manage my anger. He taught me how to hide my anger, how to use it and how to let it go.” Jeongguk huffs a laugh, eyes distant. “I remember, when I would explode he would say to me, ‘It’s useless to try and take a cup of blood from everything in the world. Find the one thing that hurt you, and take a whole oceanful. In the meantime, finds some loyal friends and several large buckets.’” 

That certainly sounds like the type of morbid advice Jin would dispense. Jeongguk speaks about the older man with a great deal of respect, and if Jimin’s not mistaken, a hint of hero worship. 

The truth has cleared the fog around both of them. There are no more shadows around their past, and Jimin feels like he’s seeing Jeongguk for the first time, truly seeing him. The boy he once knew, Jeon, with his wide eyes and stained face, has been replaced by this angry, passionate young man. 

It feels like the goodbye their past selves never got, ripped away from each other in the middle of the night. Jimin sees in his mind’s eye a sixteen year-old version of himself, standing palm-to-palm with a fourteen year-old Jeon. There’s a whisper, a farewell. Then the image dissipates, and all that’s left is Jeongguk, standing in front of him, with broad shoulders and a bunny smile. 

Jimin opens his arms shyly, and Jeongguk steps forward to embrace him. 

“Jeonggukie,” Jimin whispers into his hair. Jeongguk just hugs him tighter. 

“Jiminie-hyung,” he whispers back, and his voice slips into a rougher accent, ringing of home. Jimin pulls away, and both of them are smiling. They understand.

After Jeongguk leaves, Jimin straightens up his room and leaves the stained shirt to soak in a basin of cold water. He knocks on Namjoon’s door, rocking back on his heels. His conversation with Jeongguk has left him feeling lighter than he has in a long time. 

Namjoon quirks an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment on Jimin’s lively demeanor. They sit on the older man’s bed, pouring over a few language books Namjoon has. Jimin studies conversational Kerch and the finer points of flirting in a foreign language for a while before he goes looking for Jin for self-defense lessons. 

It might just be his imagination, but Jin pushes him just a little harder than he has before. He doesn’t pull as many punches, and praise is even more sparse. Jimin thinks about Namjoon’s comment on how Jin cares deeply for Jeongguk, and the stars in Jeongguk’s eyes from their earlier conversation, and thinks he understands Jin’s attitude. 

Dinner arrives with a muted-orange sunset and a sudden influx of Storks. Jimin sits with Taehyung and Jeongguk, chatting amicably. He doesn’t see Namjoon anywhere. Jimin knows there are other prostitutes how work out of The Tiger’s Eye, but all the girls he’s seen give him a careful side-eye and slip away out of sight. He wonders what they do all day.

Taehyung and Jeongguk talk animatedly, throwing around comments about the Storks who happen to walk by, be it the latest gossip or the amount of fights won. Jimin keeps to himself, soaking in the atmosphere. It’s comfortable being with his friends and with good food. If he closes his eyes, it almost feels like eating dinner with a raether noisey family - 

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going, bastard?” 

Scratch that.

Hoseok stands with his hands on his hips, his usual cheer gone. He glares at a man unsuccessfully trying to squeeze his way out the front door. When Hoseok calls all attention onto him, he flinches, squinting his eyes at the records keeper.

“Who’re you callin’ bastard?” Hoseok crosses the room, people moving out of his way.

“I call people bastards when they don’t pay their rent for three months, Dongchul.” Hoseok crosses his arms, appearing calm over the storm brewing in the room. 

Dongchul glowers at Hoseok. 

“I don’t owe nothing, I paid my dues.” Hoseok clicks his tongue critically. 

“I’m the one who keeps the books, and my books don’t lie. Cough it up, or I’ll take it up with Yoongi.” Dongchul’s clearly afraid of the prospect of facing the Stork’s leader, but he squares his shoulders, puffing out his chest. 

“You don’t have it in you, Jung. Too much of a pussy for the streets, so you keep yourself looked up in here with a pen and paper.” Dongchul spits, the words shaped ugly from an ugly mouth. Hoseok narrows his eyes, fingers twitching dangerously. Most of the room is watching the exchange, the air electric.

“You really wanna go down this path, Dongchul? You’re gonna keep pushing my good will?” Dongchul snorts, his yellow teeth bared in a snarl.

“I don’t want anything to do with your good will if it’s what keeps Grisha sluts in your bed, begging for co-”

There’s a loud crack, and glass rains down. Someone screams, and Jeongguk pushes Taehyung and Jimin down, shielding them with his own body. Jimin peeks over the edge of the table to see what’s going on.

Hoseok’s gun is smoking, and Dongchul groaning on the floor, clutching his abdomen. The records keeper’s face has a gray cloud over it, a sort of rage Jimin has only seen a few times in his life. 

“My good will was the only thing keeping you alive. And it just ran out.” 

Jimin looks over at Jeongguk and Taehyung. Jeongguk doesn’t look surprised, but every muscle in his body is tensed, as if he’s ready to leap into the fray at any minute. Taehyung’s face is unreadable. Jimin wonders how Taehyung feels about such comments about himself. Jimin personally wouldn’t care if he was called a slut - he gets called worse, and it’s not like they’re wrong - but Taehyung is different. Taehyung doesn’t sell his body every night. 

There are still people shouting, and the broken window behind Dongchul lets in the clamor of the streets. Despite the blood pooling beneath him, Dongchul manages to slur out, 

“Fuck you, I never liked this penniless gang anyways. I hope you and Min Yoongi rot in hell.” 

“You assume I’ve never been there before.” And all of a sudden, the room is absolutely still.

Yoongi stands at the opposite end of the room, hair damp and lips curled. He walks towards Hoseok and Dongchul, and the crowded room parts for him effortlessly. Jimin’s breath catches, and there’s a whiff of ozone, as if lightnings going to strike any second.

Dongchul scrabbles backwards until his back hits the wall, leaving a wide swath of red behind him. He snarls, a scared animal backed into a corner. And Yoongi is a predator, all clean lines and animal grace, twirling a long-barreled pistol. 

Yoongi brushes past Hoseok, coming to squat by Dongchul’s form. The man raises a shaky hand, reaching for his own gun, but Yoongi nudges the hand away with the barrel of his gun.

“None of that, Dongchul. It’s unbecoming of a traitor to try and defend himself when he’s been caught.” Yoongi’s voice echoes in the silent hall. Jimin can’t tear his eyes away.

Dongchul sucks in a breath, and Yoongi laughs lowly.

“Oh, you think I wouldn’t know about the little scam you have going? Selling us out to the Razor Gulls for just a little extra coin; men like you make me sick. No sense of loyalty” Yoongi pokes at Dongchul’s stomach with his gun, and the man moans pitifully. Yoongi tilts his head to the side, disinterested.

“And I was so close to forgiving you. What Hoseok said, ‘just cough it up.’ I would have been willing to let it slide, maybe keep you running meaningless errands for a few months. I can’t blame a man for trying to hustle on the side. But then you refuse to pay up, and insult one of my own. I guess you never learned...” 

Yoongi presses the barrel of his gun up against Dongchul’s cheek. The man’s breathing is ragged, shallow, going cross-eyed keeping his eyes on the firearm. Yoongi leans in close, gun sliding down the man’s jawline. 

“No one ever hustles me. Ever. No one insults one of mine.” Yoongi’s voice borders on mania, and Jimin finally understands the full spell of Min Yoongi. “You told me to rot in Hell. Men like me have been to Hell, and crawled back out on our knees.”

The gun presses into the space above Dongchul’s heart. Jimin’s pulse is racing. Is he really about to watch Yoongi murder a man right in front of him? The gang leader’s face is ice cold, and Jimin can feel the freeze down to the ends of his fingers.

Dongchul has his eyes screwed shut, waiting for the final shot. When it doesn’t come, his eyes slowly crack open, his expression confused. Yoongi sits back on his heels, watching the dying man..

“Wait,” Dongchul croaks, “I don’t understand.” Yoongi holsters his gun smoothly. 

A small voice whispers in the back of Jimin’s head: ‘beware’.

“Well, I figure you still owe me the rent you’ve neglected to pay.” Yoongi’s voice gives nothing away, but Jimin feels a primal fear rise inside of him. This is no act of mercy. This is a cat playing with a mouse before it kills it. 

Dongchul looks relieved, even though he’s sitting in a pool of his own blood. 

“And you can start,” Yoongi says, “with your liver.” 

Jimin feels like he might be sick. 

Dongchul doesn’t understand, but when it dawns on him what Yoongi means, he starts to struggle. Yoongi dips his head, and Dongchul freezes. Jimin looks over to Taehyung, who has his arms outstretched. He still cannot read Taehyung’s expression, but his hands are trembling. Taehyung keeps the man immobile, until two men step forward and haul Dongchul onto his feet, dragging him towards the door. The man spits blood, straining against the men.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I only wanted a little extra kruge! I didn’t mean to insult the Grisha boy, please! Please, I’ll do anything!” 

“Around three thousand kruge should cover all your debts, but I think I could make a profit off of you still.” Yoongi stands and watches them drag Dongchul out the door. “A man your size, we could probably get around, I don’t know, five, six thousand? That’s hoping your liver isn’t destroyed by drinking. I hear hearts go for a lot these days on the black market.” 

Dongchul’s panicked expression is burned into Jimin’s brain, the image of pure, animalistic terror, even after his screams fade from the hall. Yoongi turns to look back at his table, and the madness still in his eyes is palpable.

‘What kind of a devil is this?’ thinks Jimin. 

‘What in Saints name have I gotten myself into?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes.
> 
> Yoongi turned darker than I planned, but I think it's better this way. I really like the ending to this chapter, as messed up as it is.   
> I think it's really interesting how Jimin and Jungkook cope with the trauma of kidnapping and being in a strange city differently. Jimin internalized a lot of it, refusing to speak and blaming himself, being ashamed. Jungkook turned it all outwards, growing angry at the world, picking fights needlessly. But they're healing now. It's a long road, but now they have each other.
> 
> (I promise this is Yoonmin, not jikook. As you can probably tell, jinkook is my endgame)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed this longer, more violent chapter haha
> 
> Comments/kudos are very much appreciated! Tell me what you think of Yoongi cutting out someone's liver.
> 
> Tell me how much I suck at writing or send memes to me on Twitter at https://twitter.com/sunstarsseokjin


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He thinks he dreams, but he’s not sure. There are flashes of memory that flash out of view as soon as he focuses on a particular one. He sees Jeongguk’s pale calf kicking at a slaver, the watery reflection of tin buttons in the Menagerie, Jin’s tiger eyepatch winking at him, salt water, blood, burning incense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Sweethearts!   
> I've got big plans for this story, but it's taking me longer than I thought to flesh them out the way I want. So, this chapter got split into two parts. I know that I'm gonna be very busy/distracted these next three weeks, and I'd rather put out two short, consistent chapters than have you wait a month for a slightly longer one.   
> Thank you for your patience!
> 
> Happy Reading!

Even upstairs, far away from the bloodstained wooden planks, Dongchul’s pathetic begging plays on loop in his head.

Jimin screws his eyes shut tightly, trying to keep the images out. He wasn’t naive, he had known what the underside of the Barrel produced. But kept locked away in Tante Heleen’s gilded cage, he had never had to experience for himself. 

Saints, is Dongchul really getting carved up behind the Tiger’s Eye at this very moment? Jimin pushes down the sick urge to look out a back window.

Taehyung’s face is grim, but he doesn’t seem as upset. Perhaps he’s seen Yoongi send men to get scrapped for parts before? Or maybe it was the insult that made him apathetic. His eyes are shadowed in the candlelight as he works, mixing two powders together. Jimin sits next to him on Taehyung’s bed. His own room had seemed to loom in front of him, and he had sought the comfort of another person’s presence. He worries if he was alone, he’d continue to hear the screams.

Taehyung doesn’t say anything about Jimin’s discomfort, had allowed the boy to follow him to his room. Maybe he understands. Maybe someone else did the same for him the first time he saw someone dragged away, bleeding out. Jimin shivers, and watches the candle flicker.

The door creaks open, and Hoseok pokes his head in. His head is ruffled, but his usual charm is back in place. He grins at the pair on the bed, shutting the door behind him quietly. 

“Got things all straightened out with Yoongi. I don’t think anyone’s gonna be missing out on payments for a long time. Makes my life easier.” 

Hoseok joins them on the bed, sitting next to Taehyung with his legs tucked up at his side. Jimin hugs his knees. He knows he should leave, that Taehyung and Hoseok probably want time to themselves, but he can’t bring himself to stand. His room is far away, cold and unfamiliar. 

Taehyung finishes working with the powders, screwing the lids on and setting the glassware on the bedside table. He leans back into Hoseok, eyes closing. Hoseok presses a light kiss to the crook of Taehyung’s neck. Taehyung hums and opens his eyes to look at Jimin.

“Are you scared of Yoongi?” Taehyung asks. Jimin has to appreciate Taehyung’s blunt nature. He gets straight to the point. Jimin studies the quilt that’s been thrown haphazardly over the mattress. 

“I’m not sure. I’ve lived in the Barrel for two years, but I’ve never seen...that.” he answers honestly. Taehyung nods, and Hoseok looks up from Taehyung’s shoulder. 

“It’s like that, the first time you see Yoongi handle business. It’s just a part of this life. Yoongi was just doing what needed to be done, setting an example.” Hoseok says. He sounds almost sad, but not regretful. Jimin bites his lip.

“Would you...Would you have shot him if you didn’t know Yoongi was going to kill him anyways?” Jimin asks quietly. Taehyung tips his head back to look at Hoseok. Hoseok doesn’t respond right away. When he does, he chooses his words carefully.

“When he insulted me, that was crossing a line he couldn't go back over. That wasn’t something I could have taken without some sort of consequence.” Taehyung seems satisfied with the response, shifting to once again lean back against Hoseok. Jimin isn’t quite sure what their relationship is, but it’s enough of one that Hoseok felt the need to avenge an insult against Taehyung. 

The Grisha boy lays a hand on Jimin’s ankle, curious concern outlined in the dim lighting. 

“Are you gonna be able to sleep tonight?” Jimin shrugs. Taehyung pats his bed. 

“You can sleep here tonight. And I can slow your pulse enough to put you to sleep, if you want. I know sometimes people don’t like me messing with their bodies.” 

“That...would be really nice, actually. Thank you, Taehyungie. Are you sure you’re okay with me sleeping here? I can go back to my room, it’s no big deal.” Jimin’s eyes dart between Taehyung and Hoseok. Taehyung shakes his head, 

“Nah don’t worry about it, you can stay here. Promise we won’t do anything gross while you’re asleep, Stork’s honor.” Taehyung winks, and Jimin can’t help but smile. He lays down the opposite length of the bed, his feet near the headboard. Hoseok throws a corner of the quilt over Jimin, and Taehyung hovers an open palm over his chest. 

It’s a strange sensation, his heart rate dropping suddenly. It’s a little jarring, but Jimin dutifully feels his eyes sliding shut, mind tugged towards sleep. Taehyung’s hand moves from over his chest down his torso, and Jimin’s muscles relax. He distantly hears Hoseok whisper something to Taehyung, and the Grisha’s response, but already he’s sinking into a deep, dizzy blackness.

He thinks he dreams, but he’s not sure. There are flashes of memory that flash out of view as soon as he focuses on a particular one. They wrap around his head, mere fragments of sights or sounds. He sees Jeongguk’s pale calf kicking at a slaver, the watery reflection of tin buttons in the Menagerie, Jin’s tiger eyepatch winking at him, salt water, blood, burning incense.

Someone says his name, and he flounders to the surface, sliding back into the dark before another flash of memory distracts him. This isn’t a memory. At least, a memory he doesn’t remember happening. Through his eyelashes, he sees Taehyung talking to two dark shapes. The crack of the open door cuts a tiger stripe of lantern light across the quilt. 

“He’s sleeping...quite a show...” 

“...Much worse...Have to tell him at some point…”

“...Hyung doesn’t have a…” 

“...Alright. Goodnight.” 

The stripe of light ceases abruptly, and Jimin thinks he feels the bed dip behind him, and the sound of a kiss from by his feet. Then the dark pulls him away, and he doesn’t dream for the rest of the night.

The light wakes him up again, Taehyung’s high window letting in a small ray of grim sunshine. It must be early morning, because Taehyung is still asleep, parallel alongside Jimin on the small bed. The heartrender has his arms wrapped tightly around a pillow, and he snuffles quietly as Jimin watches. 

Jimin grins, and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He pads out of the room and down the hall as quietly as he can. His own room is chilly, and he washes up quickly, changing into a fresh set of clothes. 

He’s on his way downstairs to see if there’s any food when he runs into Yoongi in the hallway. Jimin freezes for a moment, and suddenly all he can see is the cruel tilt to Yoongi’s sneer as Dongchul had been dragged away. In the present, Yoongi greets him politely, a far cry from his act the night before.

“Oh, good morning. Did you sleep well in Taehyung’s room?” Yoongi asks. Jimins his head politely.

“Yes I did, thank you.” There’s an awkward pause, then Yoongi jerks his head back down the hall. 

“Could you talk to me for a second? You’re not in trouble, I promise.” Jimin nods helplessly. He follows Yoongi back down the hall to his office. By now, the room has lost a bit of its intimidation, and Jimin finds a seat on one of the low couches right away. 

Yoongi stands in front of him, and for the first time, he looks hesitant. 

“What you saw last night upset you.” It’s not a question so much as a statement. Jimin nods. “That’s understandable, for someone new to the Barrel. There are no good men in the Barrel, Jimin.” Thinking of the Storks he knows, Jimin opens his mouth to refute the claim, 

“What about-” but Yoongi interrupts him.

“-Do you really think they would have hesitated to do the same as me, in the same position?” Jimin shuts his mouth. He thinks of the grey cloud in Hoseok’s face when he shot Dongchul without a second thought, the rage that descended like a lense over Jeongguk’s eyes when he had pinned the rude mercher against the wall. Jimin shakes his head. Yoongi tucks his chin close to his chest.

“There are no good men in the Barrel,” he repeats, “but there are some who are better than others. We like to think of ourselves as a step above the average gutter rat, but we don’t delude ourselves. We’re criminals, and most of us chose this life over any other.” Yoongi regards Jimin with his granite eyes. 

“But not you. I think you’re the only Stork I’ve had the pleasure of meeting who did not choose Ketterdam, the Barrel, this gang, or this role. Most of the people here are accustomed to the rules of the Barrel: when someone bigger than you says jump, you better have a very large gun or you better jump.But we don’t always run business like that. 

“You were brought as a slave, and an indenture you remain. But I’d like to remind you that you still have a choice. You can say no to Lee Hwitaek’s party and your job. There’d be no penalty against you, no extra added onto your indenture, no punishment. I understand what kind of a position you’ve been faced with, and I want you to know there are other routes for you to take.” 

Jimin isn’t sure what to say. There is static noise filling up the room, and he feels as if he has to raise his voice to hear over the ringing in his ears. 

“I...thank you. For reminding me, I suppose. I would still like to complete the job, if it’s all the same to you.” Jimin isn’t sure when he got so informal with Min Yoongi. Maybe it had something to do with the lack of slaps and threats of starvation. 

“Alright.” Yoongi nods towards the door. “I won’t take up anymore of your time. I’ll keep you updated with the job.” Jimin gets up and bows, exiting back into the hall. Yoongi’s office always feels like a gap in time and space, a location unaffected by the passage of time. 

Jimin takes a deep breath, listening to the creak of the floors as The Tiger’s Eye wakes up. He’ll complete his mission. He’ll pay back his indenture and control his own future. He just has to make it this next day, and the next, and the next. 

 

\-----

 

Both Namjoon and and Jimin look up when the door creaks open. Namjoon leans back on his elbow and raises an eyebrow at Jeongguk. 

“I thought the proper thing to do would be to knock on a working woman’s door.” Namjoon comments, closing his book with a ring-covered hand. Jeongguk rolls his eyes.

“Sure, hyung. Jimin, Tae wants you. Something about ‘being his model.’” Jimin looks at Namjoon, who gestures towards the door. 

“You can go, we can keep working tomorrow. You’ve made some good progress, you’re doing good.” 

“Ah, thank you Joon-hyung. What does Taehyung need me for?” Jeongguk shrugs,

“Not sure. Guess you’ll find out.” 

Jimin knocks on Taehyung’s door, wondering if he too would refer to himself as a ‘working woman’ someday. 

“Come in.” Jimin opens the door, peering inside. Taehyung’s room is mostly dim, as always, and the usual mountain of assorted clothing items has migrated from the floor to the bed. Taehyung stands near the window, trying to thread a needle. Taehyung looks up from his task when he hears the door.

“Hey! Yoongi asked me to help you pick an outfit for your ‘job’ in three days, whatever that means.” Taehyung’s eyes cross as he again tries to thread his needle. Jimin steps further into the room, going to the bed and beginning to shift through the pile of fabric. 

Jimin is quickly overwhelmed by his options. Taehyung has a wide collection of items, from scarves so sheer one can see the skin underneath to thick, woolen tunics with embroidered edges. Jimin really isn’t sure quite what “attending Lee Hwitaek’s and distracting someone important” entails, but he assumes his distraction will be more of the sensual type, rather than the dangerous, explosive kind. He wonders where Taehyung even got all these clothes. It’s not like he or anyone in the Storks are rolling in kruge.

He sets aside a few things he likes that fit the job: a soft purple shirt with slitted sleeves, a shimmering golden robe over a slinky black top, and a blue dress with beads along the shoulders and neckline. Jimin isn’t sure about the dress, but many of his past clients had expressed a desire to see him in women’s clothing. If his goal is to keep the focus on himself, the dress would certainly fit his purposes. 

“Aha!” From over by the window, Taehyung gives a triumphant cry. He holds up his threaded needle. Jimin giggles, and Taehyung’s grin grows. “Find anything you like over there?” 

“Maybe a few things,” Jimin says, gesturing to his stack, “But I’m not sure about this one.” He holds up the dress, and Taehyung studies the piece, stepping closer. 

“From what you’ve picked, I’d guess your job is something sexy, am I right?” Jimin nods.

“Distracting.” Jimin clarifies, and Taehyung nods.

“Ahh, I gotcha. What else have you got?” Jimin points to the shirt and the robe with the top. Taehyung hums thoughtfully. 

“Well, if you’re going for distracting, I’d say the gold. Nothin’ a bunch of merchers like more than something pretty and shiny, be it a person or a bag of coins. You’ll want a color no one else has on. I wonder about green…” Taehyung trails off, lost in thought as he rifles through the pile. Jimin looks down at the shiny golden robe. It’s very nice looking, but he just doesn’t feel sure… 

“Where’d you get all this stuff anyway?” Jimin asks, genuinely curious. 

“Well,” Taehyung says, “I grew up on a merchant ship, because my parents were traders. We traveled all over the world, buying and selling and collecting interesting trinkets. My mom used to buy a silk scarf from every port we went to. We had outfits for all kinds of weather, from all over the world.” Taehyung smiles at the memory. 

“I think we moved around so much because I was a heartrender. Neither of my parents were Grisha. My grandmother was, I think, but she was taken before I was born. I think my father wanted to keep that from happening to me.” Taehyung shakes his head. “Anyways, that was all before the plague blew through. It was just our misfortune to arrive in Ketterdam a day before they shut down the port. My parents tried to leave, but they wouldn’t let us. They died of the plague. I was twelve.” 

Jimin looks at Taehyung with pity, but the Grisha boy doesn’t look up from the shirt in his hands. Jimin thinks he could maybe understand, being separated from your parents young, but then banishes the thought. His parents are alive, most likely, even if he can’t visit them. Taehyung’s parents are gone forever. Taehyung continues, 

“I guess I was lucky not to catch the plague, but afterwards I was just a little boy lost in a big city. All I had was the trunk of clothes. It was the one thing I kept from the ship. I had no place to go, no one to care for me. I knew to keep my powers hidden well enough, but I had nothing until Yoongi took me in.

“He was just a small time criminal back then, working his way up the ranks. But 16 year-old Yoongi saw something in me. He shared his food with me, gave me a home. He kept me safe when the stadwatch came knocking. Even when he found out I was Grisha, he never tried to blackmail me with it.” 

“Yoongi’s a better man than most.” Jimin says, and he almost doesn’t believe the words are coming from himself. Yoongi’s words echo through this mind: 

‘There are no good men in the Barrel.’ Jimin wonders if this is really true.

“That he is,” Taehyung agrees. “He just does what he has to, to protect us all.” He holds up an eye-catching pink vest. “What about this one?” 

“...Let’s keep looking.” Taehyung shrugs and goes back to the pile. Jimin moves a couple shirts, and something catches his eye. He leans over and stretches across the bed to gasp onto the corner of red peeking out from under several pairs of cream-colored pants. He pulls it free to unveil a red lacy shirt, cut to fit one’s body. It has long sleeves and a high collar. Taehyung peers at his find.

“Ah, that’s goes with something - where is it...Here!” Taehyung hoists up a white dress shirt, cut in a loose fashion. “You wear the lace underneath something like this.” 

Jimin traces the flower patterns in the lace with his fingertips. He likes the mental image of himself in it. 

“Hey Tae, how many people do you think will be in red?” Taehyung grins sharply. 

“I think you’ll be the boldest of them all.”

With a few suggestions from Taehyung, they come up with an outfit for Jimin to wear. It consists of the red lace shirt underneath the white dress shirt unbuttoned to the middle of the chest. Over that, he wears a red suit jacket in the same shade, finished off with slim cut black slacks and nice shoes. Taehyung promises to do his hair the night of, and urges him to wear some type of jewelry. 

“Might as well go the full nine yards, right? You won’t know if they’re staring at you because you’re extremely attractive, or because you’re a boy in a necklace.” Jimin is able to talk him out of the heavier items, worrying about the drag on his earlobes, but allows himself to be convinced into a simple choker. It’s a black velvet ribbon, with a metal clasp in the back. 

Jimin looks at himself in the mirror, all done up. He almost doesn’t recognize the face that blinks back; he’s never looked like this, in all his charades. He looks...like seductive danger wrapped up with a bow, and he tells Taehyung as much.

“That’s exactly what you want,” Taehyung assures him. “Guys in the Barrel can barely resist something begging to be opened.” Jimin blushes, looking back at the mirror. He touches the velvet around his neck. 

He’s been told many times over the last few years of how alluring he was, how irresistable. No matter how long he had studied himself in the Menagerie’s warped mirror, he could never see it for himself. But in the loft of a run-down brothel, in the clothes from Taehyung’s tragedy, he thinks that perhaps he could see it himself.

“Good, right? I knew you’d look good in a choker.” Taehyung says. Jimin smiles gratefully at him.

“Thank you for letting me borrow these. You’re sure I can wear them out?” Taehyung scoffs,

“Absolutely. They were meant to be worn and gawked at.” Jimin takes one last look at himself and exhales.

“Okay, out, I want to get changed back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I really hope you like this chapter, though it might be mostly filler info. We'll jump back into it next chapter! 
> 
> Jimin's outfit inspiration comes from 171231 Taeyong of NCT, and thank you to Night for that lovely suggestion! <3!
> 
> Comments/kudos are very much appreciated!
> 
> Find me on Twitter at https://twitter.com/sunstarsseokjin


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no justice in the Barrel, but there is indignation. 
> 
> “Our duty?” 
> 
> “Yes, our duty as outsiders. It’s our job to be as true to ourselves as possible. Honesty, Jimin, is our weapon against the darkness.” In the candlelight, Namjoon is an avenging angel. 
> 
> “I don’t know if I can follow this duty, hyung,” Jimin admits. 
> 
> "That's okay, Jimin. Remember, none of us fight alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I am well aware of how long it has been since I've updated. So instead of making promises about a more regular schedule, I will just express my extreme gratitude for anyone who still finds interest in this story. I am forever thankful there are kind, dedicated people who take the time to leave me nice comments. 
> 
> The story is picking up! I barely managed to squeeze it into 5k. I found myself really inspired by queer politics and discourse in the community. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> TW: light violence, transphobia
> 
> Happy Reading!

Namjoon’s hand leaves his face, thumb pressing one last time into his lower lip. Jimin resists the urge sneeze. Namjoon’s hands are gentle, soothing with the cool press of his many rings into Jimin’s cheek. 

“Maybe a bit more…” Namjoon trails off, dabbing at his mouth with the rouge. Jimin does his best to stay still and let Namjoon work. Namjoon had tugged him upstairs to experiment with makeup, ‘in preparation for Lee Hwitaek’s’. Jimin doubts it’s that serious, and Namjoon had probably just wanted to hang out. The Tiger’s Eye was not the most social place to inhabit, and Jimin found himself often wanting company as well. He’s taken a few clients in the past evenings, uneventful affairs with no specific instruction from Yoongi. Shady men aside, it’s nice to chat with another person with no ulterior motives. 

So he lets himself be found with kohl-shaded eyes and rouge applied heavily to his lips. Jimin’s not a stranger to makeup, but he finds the enthusiasm Namjoon has for women’s products in general to be foreign. 

“Hyung?” Jimin tries to speak without moving his lips too much.

“Yes?” Namjoon’s focus doesn’t waver from Jimin’s mouth. 

“Why do you have so much makeup?” Up close, Namjoon’s eyebrows are slightly uneven. It fits him, a distracted man usually polished till no personality remains, with imperfections in private. Jimin appreciates Namjoon’s eyebrows. Namjoon picks up the rouge pot.

“Well, I’ve got a job to do, don’t I?” Namjoon jokes, squinting thoughtfully at Jimin’s lips. Jimin shrugs, careful to keep his movement tiny enough not to dislodge Namjoon’s steadying hand on his cheek. “But if you’re looking for a real answer, I just happen to prefer it, my occupation notwithstanding. It’s nice to feel pretty sometimes, you know?” 

“I would suppose so.” Jimin doesn’t know if he’s ever had the inclination to look ‘pretty’. Desirable and alluring, sure, but never pretty. And to use women’s products to achieve it...He finds more questions than what he began with. He can understand wanting to entice men in this line of employment, but Namjoon had said he liked being pretty outside of work demands. 

“But hyung…” Jimin stops himself from biting his lip and messing up Namjoon’s work with the rouge. 

“Mm?” 

“Isn’t makeup and being pretty just for women?” 

“Not necessarily.” Namjoon nods once, satisfied with his work on Jimin’s lips, and takes his hand away from Jimin’s cheek. Jimin almost misses the touch. “Makeup and jewelry can be worn by anyone, for any reason.”

Jimin can’t disagree with him there. But he still has questions rolling their way like pearls around in his palm. Questions, imperfect pearls, it’s all the same. Questions come from the sea, and pearls from the throats of gossips. 

“Do you think you like women’s things...Because you’re like me? Because you like men?” Namjoon sighs, settling back on the bed. He brushes the hair out of his eyes, rings catching in the light. 

“Maybe. I don’t really know. But I think it’s unreasonable to connect certain preferences to each other. Humans are far too complicated for that. It would be like saying you only like tteokbokki because you also like the color blue. While it’s possible they could be connected in some strange way, it’s ridiculous to claim they’re the only reasons for the other’s existence.” 

Jimin shrugs. He feels safe enough to be unsure. Namjoon’s room is safe. Namjoon himself is a fixed point. It’s a little frightening, how close he’s become to these people he’s only recently met, excepting Jeongguk. But if trust yields in all these good things, perhaps it’s not so bad to feel safe sometimes, Jimin thinks. Namjoon studies Jimin gently. Everything Namjoon does is gentle, despite his large hands and long legs. It could be the facade Namjoon wishes people to see, but Jimin likes the softness in him, how compassionate his hands are and how his legs fold comically under him when he sits. His gentleness also frightens Jimin. 

“Jimin, being attracted to other men doesn’t make us a proxy to women. We live as men, and no matter how we dress, we will always be men. Whoever we choose to love doesn’t make us a replacement or substitute to women or anyone else. You are attracted to men because they are masculine, right? Would you then feel the same attraction towards a woman with masculine features?” Jimin shook his head. “My point exactly.” Namjoon leans forward, elbows resting on his bent knees and eyes gleaming with some new passion. 

“We’re the ones on the fringes of acceptable society. Ketterdam doesn’t want anything to do with us. We don’t look like them, speak like them, love like them. We aren’t them. It’s our freedom, and our duty, to break as many of their rules as possible.” Namjoon looks righteous, sitting on his bed. There is no justice in the Barrel, but there is indignation. 

“Our duty?” 

“Yes, our duty as outsiders. It’s our job to be as true to ourselves as possible. And if that means wearing makeup or laying with other men, then it’s just another step towards honesty and bravery. Honesty, Jimin, is our weapon against the darkness.” 

In the candlelight, Namjoon is an avenging angel. Jimin can almost imagine the thinly-feathered wings sprouting from his back, ready to throw back the darkness he spoke of. 

“I don’t know if I can follow this duty, hyung,” Jimin admits. Namjoon clasps him on the shoulder, still unbearably careful with his touch. 

“That’s okay, Jimin. Remember, none of us fight alone.” 

 

\-------

 

The knife goes spinning across the room, but Jimin doesn’t take his eyes off of Jin. 

“Better. Try again.” Jin stares down at Jimin, as still as the surface of a lake. Jimin can feel the sweat dripping down his lower back, and knows he doesn’t look as half as composed as Jin does. He dutifully retrieves the knife, sliding his feet back into position with his weight evenly distributed. He breathes, centering himself and pushing away his frustration. Jin isn’t going easy on him today especially, but for good reason; the party is that evening. 

Jin had talked Jimin into a last-minute review. Jin’s lessons have been educational to say the least. The older Stork pushes him hard, but Jimin now feels confident that he won’t wilt like a plucked daisy the moment someone comes after him with a knife. He wonders if knives are carried by Lee Hwitaek’s guests often. Jin in a mystery on the best of day, a terror on the worst. Today especially, there’s something brewing above his head, an almost imperceptible storm cloud. Jin doesn’t rain, Jimin thinks to himself, he strikes like lightning without thunder. Jin tilts his head ever so slightly to the side, waiting for Jimin to signal he’s ready. 

Jimin swallows, feeling the black velvet ribbon bob against his throat. He’s still wearing the choker, fascinated ever since he had put in on with Taehyung earlier. He’d taken a liking to the small piece of jewelry, and put in on this morning in a brief flash of impulse. 

He nods, and Jin comes at him, quick as a whip with his knife raised. As taught, Jimin slips sideways and grasps Jin’s forearm from his side. He attempts to kick Jin’s legs out from under him, but somehow, his untrained legs get tangled with Jin’s graceful ones and he falls with a thump to the wooden floor, knife spilling out of his hand. He gasps, the wind knocked out of him. Jin stands over him, grey clouds gathering. 

“That was sloppy.” Jimin wipes away the sweat dripping into his eyes. He can feel the ocean of resentment boiling up, left over from two years in chains, but he pushes it away. Jin is not the one he’s angry with. But it sure as hell feels good to direct his frustration towards the older Stork. 

“Again,” Jin instructs him, infuriatingly unruffled even after an hour of practice. Jimin clenches his fist around the knife handle. He won’t be distracted this time. Jin comes at him just as quickly as last time. But this time, instead of letting Jimin slip sideways and dodge, Jin comes right up to his chest. Jimin tries to move but before he can Jin shoves at his chest, throwing him off his balance. As Jimin flounders, trying to regain his footing, Jin’s got his knife pressed to his collarbone and a hand grasping onto Jimin’s choker. 

Jimin chokes at the sudden pressure around his throat, but Jin doesn’t pull back. He slaps at Jin’s arms, and manages to get a good kick to Jin’s knee. Jin’s grip lets up for a moment as he hisses in pain, and Jimin thrashes his way out of Jin’s hold. He stumbles a good few feet away from the man, chest heaving. 

“What the fuck?” Jimin gasps, rubbing a hand around his throat. The velvet choker is still intact, but there’s a threadbare section where Jin’s grip had stretched the material. Jimin feels his anger grow irrationally at the tear. He’d liked this necklace a lot. “You didn’t tell me you were going to do that!”

“You think someone’s going to broadcast their every move in the real world? You think you’re going to get a warning? Don’t be naive.” Jin twirls his knife, looking unbalanced for the first time during their sessions. Jimin glares at him, that ocean in him rising up once more.

“That wasn’t fair, coming for me like that. I’m not as skilled as you.” Jimin protests breathlessly. Jin squints, the tiger on eyepatch snarling, and Jimin gets a whiff of ozone. 

“Fairness doesn’t exist. No one is going to care whether you’re on equal footing, or whether you’re armed, or whether it’s not your fault. You’re weak, and it makes you a target. Throw yourself a pity party later, and get. On. Your. Feet.” 

Jin bites out the last few words, and Jimin climbs to his feet, still glaring. He knows the best thing would be to hold his tongue and listen to the experienced fighter, but the tsunami is already rolling in. He couldn’t stop the words if he tried, but the ocean won’t be denied.

“Being hard on me won’t make your past self better! It won’t bring back your eye!” 

Jimin regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. For a split second, Jimin fears Jin will cut him with that wicked blade of his, cut him down to his bone. Jin is terrifyingly calm, but underneath his skin is a storm so wild Jimin almost can’t look at him directly. 

“Don’t presume to know anything about me, my past, or what I want.” Jin stops only a foot away from Jimin, a whole hurricane contained in his limbs. The knife stays at Jin’s side, but Jimin doesn’t doubt it could be at his throat in the span of a blink, if Jin so desired.

“You don’t know anything about what I’ve been through, the lessons I’ve had to pay for in blood. You’ve never been thrown out of your home. You’ve never come to a strange city with hope, only to have that hope cut out with a pocketknife by your lover when you aren’t what he’s expecting. You’ve never been told you’re not a real man.” Jin looks like a wounded animal, curled around a broken limb and throwing sparks at anyone who dares come too close. He looks away from Jimin, chest falling unevenly. Shame paints his features. 

Jimin swallows hard. He knew there could be nothing good surrounding the loss of the older man’s eye, but to have it taken out by someone Jin had once trusted…That is a wound that even time would struggle to mend. Jin may have lost an eye that day, but he gained sight of the world and just how cruel it could be. Slowly, Jimin sinks to the floor, crossing his legs underneath him. Maybe it’s a desire to deescalate the situation, maybe to submit to Jin and bare his belly. Either way, it seems to work. Jin follows his lead, gaze unfocused and his breathing still choppy and quick. Jimin understands this is not something Jin reveals often. 

“I’m sorry, hyung.” It’s difficult to apologize when anger still gathers in his throat, but he manages. “I know you’re only trying to help me, and I took your kindness for granted.” Jin keeps his eyes on his feet, hands still along the handle of his blade. The room is silent, the aftershocks of the storm, the scorch marks and the rain on the roof. After a long moment, Jin’s words are little more than a rumble, puddling on the floor around them.

“No, I’m sorry. I took my anger out on you, and when you pushed back, I tried to hurt you. I am in control.” The last part is spoken like a mantra. Jimin picks his words carefully.

“You’re right.” Jin looks up when Jimin speaks, carefully blank, washed away by the storm. “I don’t know what that betrayal feels like. But I know what it’s like, to want to hurt others back for what the world’s done to you. I wanted to hurt you too.” 

The admission shocks himself, but it’s true. He has so much anger inside him, finally allowed to breathe after years strangled in the dark of holding his poise. The anger is fading now, the waves growing smaller. He recalls Jeongguk had also mentioned being angry, and how the Storks had helped him. Jimin glances over at Jin, his rage complimented with curiosity.

“How do you manage the anger?” Jimin asks. Jin sits like a statue in the rain. He looks like marble.

“Patience. Mistakes.” His murky gaze slides to Jimin, who swallows thickly.

“You helped Jeongguk, right?” Jin nods. 

“He wanted to burn the city down. I helped him realize that was a bad idea, as he was living in that city.” Jin snorts, lost in the memory. “Anger can burn you too, if you’re not careful. People lose themselves into hatred, and they don’t come back. I promised myself I wouldn’t go down that path. And then I promised I wouldn’t let Jeongguk either.” He sighs, fiddling lightly with the ring around his finger. 

“I carried much anger with me, soon after..” he gestures to his eye patch. “I lost more than my eye. While I was angry and on the streets...I wasn’t myself. I was some bitter shell, always bleeding and never loyal. When I saw Jeongguk, young and furious, I saw myself. Even so damaged, he had a bright personality. It would have been a waste to see that personality crushed by the burden of hate.” Jin sniffs haughtily. He seems happy to talk about Jeongguk instead of himself.

“And you thought the best thing to do for him was let him join an illegal gang?” Jimin asks, without any judgement. After all, he too belongs to said gang.

“What else could I have done?” Jin shrugs. “There was nothing left for him in Shu Han, what, when he thought you had drowned. With the Storks, we gave him a home and a cause, and that’s better than how most gutter rats end up.” 

Cross-legged on the floor, Jimin can almost see 15 year-old Jeongguk covered in bruises and swept in under Jin’s heavy arm. With the promise of family and food, was there ever any question on whether he would join? Jin quirks a grin.

“He was all hung up on you, pretty boy. He swore he’d never love again, the child.” Jimin must look stricken, because Jin scoffs. “Oh, don’t look so concerned. I swear, the both of you and self-deprecation and guilt. He’s not in love with you anymore. Took me forever just to pull a name from him, and even longer to find out you were a boy to boot. I think he was afraid of you, in a sense.” 

Jimin can only think of courage, and his previous conversation with Namjoon. He watches Jin, with his eye patch and rain clouds, and wonders what bravery and honesty are. He wonders what the “darkness” Namjoon had mentioned really is. 

“Namjoon-hyung says it’s our duty, as, as men who like men, to break as many rules as possible. That we should be wearing women’s clothing and challenging the people who say we should not.” Jimin touches the torn choker around his throat, fingers barely brushing the old velvet. Jin squints, the edges of his mouth turned down. 

“Namjoon-ah says a lot of things. He likes to do a lot of thinking without a lot of action.” There’s affection in Jin’s voice, familiarity and exasperation. An old argument then. 

“Is he wrong to say so? Are we not outside of society’s bounds? Should we not fight for what we enjoy?” Jimin presses further. Jin barks a humorless laugh.

“Everyone is so ready to condemn society until it’s of use to them again. You know, we only have ourselves to blame. Culture is created by the participants, not the outcasts. Trying to distance yourself from the only source of civilization, food and shelter and law, is nothing but a fool’s daydream. Societal rules have their time and place.”

“But aren’t they unf-”

“Unfair? Absolutely. What is culturally mainstream will always exclude the minorities. It will always exclude us, whether it’s because of our skin tone, our language, or who we take to bed. But it remains the beat everyone walks to, and to fall out of rhythm is to admit defeat. It only reinforces the things they say about us, how we are no better than animals. No, the only way to survive is to assimilate. If you act like one of them, they’re less likely to point fingers, or cut your fingers off.” Jin studies his own hands as he speaks, covered in calluses and scars. 

“Namjoon-hyung’s a part of a minority too. Why should his opinion carry any less weight than yours?” Jimin furrows his brow. He respects both Namjoon and Jin, and he would like to believe them both if they weren’t in so much conflict. 

“Well, Namjoon has the distinction of never having had his masculinity questioned. He breaks rules by wearing women’s clothing, and I...I break rules by doing the opposite. The rules were never the same for Namjoon and me. He’s never had the consequences of rebellion cut into him. He means well, and he isn’t naive, but he doesn’t understand the danger of being abnormal.”

Jin’s hands go still in his lap. He sighs, once, a puff of air and ozone. Jimin can still see the storm around him, but it’s just fog now, no more storm clouds puffed with thunder. Abruptly, Jin asks, 

“Has Tae told you about how he joined the Storks yet?” Taken aback, Jimin shrugs.

“Some. Only how he was orphaned and how Yoongi took him in.” 

“Yoongi wanted little to do with him at first.” Jin reveals, twisting his ring to the left, then the right, turning back time in his hands. Jimin blinks, surprised by this knowledge. 

“Really?” Jin nods, the tiger on his eyepatch giving a fanged yawn.

“A Grisha boy lost in Ketterdam? Sounds like a recipe for unwanted attention from some rather unsavory folks. Yoongi was still gaining power, and he didn’t want to do anything to put his rise in jeopardy. I eventually convinced him to let Taehyung become resident doctor.” Jin doesn’t look up. Jimin leans forward with his elbows on his knees. 

“What did you see in him? That made him worth it?” 

“He’s Corporalki, a tailor. He can turn people into whatever they ask, if he has the right materials. I had heard rumors, that some tailors could change the very structure of someone’s face, the blood in their veins. That they could even change a girl into a boy…” Jin’s blustery gaze cuts to Jimin, holding something like a secret, a stigma. 

It takes Jimin a moment to understand, but once he does, he finds himself searching Jin’s body, for some hint of his past. When he realizes he’s staring at Jin’s chest, he blushes and averts his eyes. Jin may carry scars, Jimin thinks, but he’s never been more than a man. His past has been scoured away by the rain and winds. As for Jin in the present, he seems unconcerned with Jimin’s reaction. He’s back to fiddling with his ring. Maybe he’s too accustomed to the stares.

“Namjoon may claim to reinvent himself, to challenge the natural order with his color and femininity. I’m sure you can see why I could not join him in his revolution. To be a man, who was once a woman, who wears women’s clothing is one paradox too many. He takes his choices for granted, as do you.” Jin gestures to the choker still hanging off of Jimin’s neck. Jimin dips his head in agreement and respect, unsure of how to respond. While Jin’s situation is unusual, at least in his experience, it is by no means unnatural or terrible. Jin could still murder him with a glance, strike him dead with lightning where he stood.

“I think I understand now, why you were upset with me. I’m sorry for reacting the way I did.” Jimin apologizes. Jin waves him off with a graceful hand.

“It’s no issue, especially when I pushed first.” Jin picks himself off the floor, retrieving his knife and twirling it in his hand before sheathing it in his belt. He offers a hand to Jimin, who takes it gratefully. “Come on. You’ve got a party to crash tonight, and you’ll need a bath before you do.”

Jimin will always appreciate Jin’s weatherproof, harsh sort of nurture.

\-----

 

Peeking out into the hall, Jimin pads down the hall with his hair still dripping. His bare feet are careful on the rough wooden floor, aware of the possible splinters. Jin had shoved him into his room, towel and bar of soap in hand, with strict orders not to reappear until he was suitably clean. He had helpfully assigned Taehyung to help haul buckets of water from the well out back to the small wooden bath in Jimin’s room. Taehyung had simply grinned at Jimin, promising to stop by with tonight’s outfit in hand. The water was on the colder side, but it was nice to feel clean. Jimin had washed quickly, but Taehyung has yet to reappear with the clothes by the time he was done. He wanders out into the hall, redressed in his normal day clothes. Scrubbed clean and covered in goosebumps, Jimin heads for Taehyung’s room to see if he’s been distracted by a certain lanky bookkeeper with a heart-shaped smile. 

A door on his right creaks, and he jumps. Before he can react, Yoongi steps out of his office. He seems to have a knack for appearing and startling Jimin. Maybe Min Yoongi has a sixth sense for inopportune times, or perhaps very auspicious times, because he always seems to get what he wants. 

“Oh, hello Jimin.” Yoongi blinks face schooled blank. His hair is ruffled, and his shirt is unbuttoned. He looks almost human.

“Good evening, Yoongi-hyung.” Jimin greets him politely, dipping his head. A lock of wet hair falls into his eyes, and Jimin pushes it back hurriedly. Yoongi frowns.

“Is it raining?” He asks. At first, Jimin is confused, but then he realizes Yoongi is staring at his damp hair. 

“Oh, no, I don’t think so.” Jimin runs a hand through his hair self-consciously. “I just took a bath.” 

“Oh.” If Jimin wasn’t mistaken, there was a flush forming across Yoongi’s cheeks. Yoongi blinks out of his stupor, craning his neck towards the window down the hall. “Saints, what time is it?” 

“Around 5 bells, I think.” 

“Jaenjang,” Yoongi swears softly. Jimin observes Yoongi’s state of slight disarray, and comes to the conclusion the man had lost track of time taking a nap. It’s a far cry from the usually bulletproof facade of the ruthless gang leader. Maybe it’s the sleepiness lingering in Yoongi’s eyes, or the scratchy softness in his voice, but Jimin makes a snap decision.

“Join me for dinner then?” Jimin hopes he isn’t crossing any boundaries. 

“Fair enough.” Yoongi shrugs agreeably, to Jimin’s surprise. Together, they walk around the corner to the main hall. It’s still early for the evening meal, but a few Storks linger in the corners, talking quietly or playing cards. Yoongi leads them to a table off to the side, not quite in the shadows but out of the line of sight of the main doors of the building. It’s a strategic spot, one easily defendable. Yoongi doesn’t comment on his choice of location, simply motioning for Jimin to take a seat while ducks into the small kitchens. Jimin sits, smooths his hands over his thighs, and observes the sunset out of the front windows. One is still broken from the evening with Dongchul.

Yoongi returns a minute later with two plates of food, a potato-beef combination popular in Kerch. Jimin thanks him, and tucks in. They eat in comfortable silence for a while, watching people come and go from the room, clustering like flocks on birds before splitting apart and heading their separate ways. 

A familiar figure breaks away from a clump, making his way towards them. Jimin smiles in greeting as Jeongguk takes a seat at the table. Yoongi grunts, but makes no other sound to acknowledge Jeongguk’s presence. The younger boy turns to face Jimin, arms folded on the table.

“How’s your training, Jimin-hyung? Is Jin pushing you too hard?” Jeongguk asks. Jimin thinks back to the torn choker sitting on his dresser, and Jin’s rain clouds.

“No, he is a fine teacher. He treats me with respect, and I appreciate his time.” Jimin answers honestly. Jeongguk nods, satisfied with that answer. 

“He taught me to fight as well. Isn’t he amazing with his knives?” As Jeongguk speaks, he twists a ring on his right hand absently. To Jimin, it looks remarkably similar to Jin’s ring, which he was messing with earlier. A small voice starts to whisper in his head, but he tunes it out in favor of focusing on Jeongguk.

“Yes, he really is. Although, it is a bit unsettling when it’s held an inch from your neck.” Jimin jokes. Jeongguk snorts, and Jimin thinks he might see the barest hint of a smile cross Yoongi’s face quickly. The conversation falls back into the comfortable silence, broken only when Hoseok swoops by, sets a plate in front of Jeongguk, ruffles his hair and dances away again. 

Jimin moves the remaining potato pieces around his plate, thinking about Namjoon and Jin. If they framed the opposite sides of the argument, where do Yoongi and Jeongguk fall? Where did he himself fall?

“Yoongi-hyung? Can I ask you something?” Jimin’s shoulders come up to hide his ears. Yoongi’s face is a careful mask as he sets down his fork.

“Go ahead, Jimin-ah.” 

“What does it mean, to like men?” Jimin asks quietly. Jeongguk is paying attention now, wide eyes attentive on the conversation. Jimin thinks Jeongguk probably questions the same thing. They are both so young, and in their relative naivety they are connected. 

“It means whatever you want it to.” Yoongi frowns slightly, the edges of eyes crinkled, a ripple in the blank pond of his features. 

“It’s just-I was talking to Namjoon-hyung, and then Jin-hyung, and…” Jimin trails off, not really sure what he’s trying to say. Jeongguk leans forward, almost daring Jimin to continue. 

“What did they say?” Jeongguk has a hunger in his hands as they continue to twist the ring on his finger. He wants answers just as badly as Jimin, if not more so. Jimin glances between Yoongi and Jeongguk before continuing.

“Namjoon-hyung said we would never be accepted by mainstream society, and that it was better to intentionally break boundaries. Jin-hyung told me about...about his past, and how it was better to integrate into tradition roles to avoid getting hurt. And I’m not sure who’s correct.”

“You’ve awoken the wolf now, haven’t you?” Yoongi comments, leaning back in his seat.

“I didn’t mean to poke at a wound, I wasn't aware-” splutters Jimin, trying to backtrack. Jeongguk looks back and forth between the two of them, like he’s watching them duel with swords instead of words. 

“No, I’m familiar with both Joon-ah and Jin-hyung’s opinions.” Yoongi traces a fingertip along the wood grain of the tabletop. “And I’m familiar with their disagreements. They’ve walked very different paths in life, and though they both live here, they’ve ended up in two very different places. I don’t know if it’s up to either of them to decide what defines you, or how you should think, dress, or act.”

“But Yoongi-hyung,” Jeongguk protests, “doesn’t Jin have more authority on this? As someone who, you know, chose to be a man?” 

“I could say the opposite, that Namjoon holds more sway because he didn’t have to choose. It doesn’t matter in the end. Both of them are men, men at the scraped-bottom of the Barrel. Their lives are their own, as is yours.” Yoongi instructs the both of them, something almost indulgent behind his eyes. He looks at Jeongguk until the younger boy ducks his head. Then he turns his stare to Jimin.

“You are no longer in chains. You are only held by your own promises. Your life is your own, to keep and to lose. Don't forget that." Jimin nods. "Go and get dressed, it’s time to leave.”

“Where’s he going, hyung?” asks Jeongguk, curiosity unquenched. Yoongi shrugs his coat over his rumpled shirt, his ruthless facade back in place. 

“Into the lion’s den. Let’s hope you’ve got Saints at your back, Park Jimin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun with this chapter, but it was also one of the harder ones to complete. I struggled particularly with the choice to make Jin trans. RPF is a balancing act as it is, because of the nature of the media. I myself am trans, and felt it would fit the character. It's not his whole motivation or characterization, but it does impact his worldview, as covered in the story. Also, it's my story yeehaw
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed reading! I wonder who else will be at Lee Hwitaek's? 
> 
> Comments/kudos are very much appreciated!
> 
> Yell at me to update faster on Twitter at https://twitter.com/sunstarsseokjin


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